


Lay Your Heartbreak

by sdwolfpup



Series: Modified Human Protection Force (MHPF) 'verse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Magical Science, Multi, Near Future, Threesome - F/M/M, Touch-Starved, genetically modified humans, kind of, stable triad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: Everyone but Addam has been fired or scared away by the raging lion, and she's the only fresh meat left. The few times she's seen Addam since he started this assignment, he's looked exhausted, even when he tries to smile and shrug it off. No one understands how or why Addam's lasted this long, although there are plenty of rumors: some harmless, some assuredly not. But Brienne agrees to take this job specifically to help him, because he's helped her since she first joined the protection force. She will not let Jaime Lannister scare her away, too.In some sense, she's the perfect choice: Jaime's ability requires touch to work, and no one touches Brienne.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Addam Marbrand/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Modified Human Protection Force (MHPF) 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892248
Comments: 203
Kudos: 214
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerulean_Phoenix7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulean_Phoenix7/gifts).



> Title from a song by the Winterpills with the same name. Prompt was: “Something with Jaime/Brienne/Addam Marbrand. Can be modern AU or set in Westeros time.” Further author notes to be added after reveals!
> 
>  **ETA Post-Reveals:** Now that we've been revealed, I have thanks I MUST give because I could not have done it without these folks. First and most important as always: many thanks to BrynnMcK for her STELLAR beta services. I really struggled with this fic for awhile for reasons I'm still not sure about, because Ceruleanphoenix7's prompt was so good and straightforward: JAB with smut. I can do that, I thought! Then for some reason I had THIS idea, which, as you can see, spiraled and sent me into a weird despair. Brynn spent a lot of time soothing me and then helped me figure out where it was going wrong, and the story is so much better for her input. Lightyears better. Inestimably better. 
> 
> Thanks also to Roccolinde for reading the entire initial draft and reassuring me multiple times not to throw it away. Thanks to Jencat who read the first part when I was starting out and already doubting myself and telling me it was worth pursuing. Thanks to forbiddenfantasies for generally reassuring me that I am not as bland of a writer as I occasionally feel like I am. This fic took a village just for hand-holding. 
> 
> Thank you to CeruleanPhoenix7 for such good prompts! I was excited to get you as my recipient and I really wanted to make you happy. <3 
> 
> And of course thank you to the exchange organizers for herding this group of excessively wordy cats. You all are the best, and this was a delight to participate in from start to finish.

Catelyn tells Brienne they're sending her because she's the best, but Brienne knows it's because she's the last. 

Everyone but Addam has been fired or scared away by the raging lion, and she's the only fresh meat left. The few times she's seen Addam since he started this assignment, he's looked exhausted, even when he tries to smile and shrug it off. No one understands how or why Addam's lasted this long, although there are plenty of rumors: some harmless, some assuredly not. But Brienne agrees to take this job specifically to help him, because he's helped her since she first joined the protection force. She will not let Jaime Lannister scare her away, too. 

In some sense, she's the perfect choice: Jaime's ability requires touch to work, and no one touches Brienne.

* * *

It started, as most awful things do, with the ultra-rich. They decided they'd spent enough time waiting for genetic modification to be done right and wanted it done _now_ instead. When the first children, the so-called “mods”, were born to a select group of families – the Targaryens, Lannisters, Baratheons, Tyrells, and Martells – their money got them exactly what they wanted: stunningly beautiful babies who learned quickly and grew into athletically gifted children. Ethically it was a disaster, but scientifically everything was perfect. 

When the mods hit puberty, the scientific reasons unregulated genetic modification weren't legal suddenly became very clear. Geneticists had flipped a few switches and in doing so set off a cascade of others. 

The first one was Rhaegar Targaryen, who got mad one day and burned down his entire house and everyone in it by means of internal spontaneous combustion. After that, Robert Baratheon broke a man in two when his super temper exploded in super strength. Even Elia Martell, who had been so sweet as a girl, full of kindness and song, discovered a darker, deadlier side when her time came. 

It was as though unwilling supervillains had been unleashed on the world, and the world did the best they could to respond. Since those first years, most of the unlucky mods have died, taken down in different ways. Of the handful that are left, they're mostly only dangerous to themselves. But just to be sure, they're all watched twenty-four hours a day by the Modified Human Protection Force. Whether they want it or not.

* * *

Brienne knocks on the absurdly tall door of the offensively large mansion that Jaime Lannister lives in. A house so big it has a name: Casterly Rock. She can smell the sea from here and it calms her, stills her nervous feet as she waits. After a minute, a young man opens the door and she wonders how far he had to walk just to get there. Given the size of the entryway, she's surprised she doesn't see a golf cart waiting to motor him around. 

“You must be Brienne Tarth,” the young man says. “Addam asked me to show you to his wing.” 

Brienne's eyebrows rise dramatically but the young man doesn't comment on her shock. He sets off in silence and she follows, taking stock of the art and decorations, the gold and silver opulence, the curtained windows and shut doors. Their footsteps and the rolling wheels of her luggage echo down the marble-floored hallway. The entire place reeks of cold and distant wealth. She's aware of every inch of her awkwardly tall body here in this very tailored space. Brienne's used to not fitting in, but she's never felt it quite this intensely before. 

The young man takes a right, leading her further in, and this hallway ends at a pair of double doors. He pushes them both open, a sweeping gesture that reveals a living space bigger than her entire last apartment, with doors on either wall, and a huge window in front of her looking out on the manicured lawns. Brienne thinks she sees the glint of a pool off to the side. 

Addam is hunched, frowning, over a laptop on the coffee table. When they enter, he looks up and there's pure, unguarded relief on his face. He's the same man he was when she saw him last, but his copper hair is not as short, there are fresh lines creasing his forehead, and he's got a shadow of stubble on his face. Without asking for it, Brienne remembers the night before he'd taken this job, his first as a lead, and he'd been smiling, and he'd kissed her. 

“You're here,” he says on an exhale now, and Brienne knows she's made the right choice to come back from her sabbatical early. 

Usually people take at least six months off when their mods die, but even though it's only been three since Renly, she was struggling more with the inaction of recovery than jumping into her next assignment. Catelyn had warned her that it was only because they were so desperate for someone to help that Brienne would be allowed back early, but Brienne was happy to take any excuse to not sit alone in her dark apartment and remember her failure. 

Addam strides over and she thinks for a second he's going to hug her, he's so excited. It wouldn't entirely surprise her – Addam has always touched her more than anyone in her life besides her dad; casual, friendly points of connection that other people wouldn't even notice. Her body quivers eagerly for it now, but he stops and thrusts his hand out and they shake instead. His grip is strong and warm and she feels it along every centimeter of her palm. When they lower their hands, Brienne flexes hers around nothing, though she can still feel his grip. 

“Anything else, sir?” the young man asks. 

“That's all, Peck. I can handle the rest from here.” 

The young man – Peck – nods his head and shuts the doors behind them. Addam gives her a lopsided grin. “I know,” he says. “Trust me, I know exactly what you're thinking right now. Come on, I'll give you the tour.” 

“Will it make me feel less out of place?”

Addam laughs with a dry, tired humor. “Definitely not.”

* * *

The grounds are enormous. It takes them almost two hours to get through them because they go all around the outside, too, while Addam explains the automated security, the limited house staff, the daily routine. He talks not at all about their mod, Jaime Lannister, and they avoid the other wing entirely. 

“You'll meet him at dinner,” Addam says when she asks, and there's something strained in his voice she doesn't like to hear. When Brienne first joined the MHPF, Addam had been the first to welcome her, had trained her and then trained with her once her skills grew. He's been in her corner even if they've never been on an assignment together before. But he's always been light and charming and cheerful, until now. 

“What about his wing?”

“No one goes in his wing without asking.” 

“Sounds like a fairytale monster,” she says, a joke offered to a man who loves jokes. 

Addam just glances at her without smiling. 

They arrive back at Addam's wing and he points to the door on the right. “Your space is there. This living area has a fully stocked kitchen for breakfast and lunch. We eat dinners with Jaime.”

“At his request?”

“Apparently,” Addam says. “He doesn't like me being too far.” 

“So he's okay with the MHPF?”

“No.” Addam doesn't elaborate, he just goes to her door and opens it. “There's a bedroom and full bathroom in here. A small personal area for whatever you want. A really nice TV,” he adds, and his smile is almost pleasant. “Dinner's in a little over an hour, so if you want to unpack, shower, whatever, go ahead. When Jaime's in his space, we're free to be anywhere on the grounds as long as one of us is easy to get ahold of. We'll work out a schedule tomorrow. I've got a little work left to do, if you're okay?”

Brienne nods and rolls her luggage to her door. She pokes her head in and gasps. Her room is enormous, like a luxury studio apartment one would see on television, something that sitcom characters always had but could never realistically afford. 

“Brienne,” Addam says just before she closes the door. “Thank you.” He looks like she's agreed to give him a kidney, not take on an assignment she's specifically been trained for.

“You're welcome,” she says, shutting the door between them. But she swears she can still feel his hand in hers.

* * *

Dinner is casual dress, so she's in jeans and a blue button-down shirt as they walk to the formal dining room. Addam's dressed the same, though his shirt is green. 

“What do you know about Jaime Lannister?” he asks as they walk.

Brienne looks around them. “How freely can I speak?”

Addam chuckles. “Freely. We're not bugged or monitored.” 

“I know what the other Keepers have said.” Addam winces. “What?” she asks. 

“Don't use that word here. 'Keepers.' He hates that word in particular.”

“That's what we are,” she says. There had been considerable argument about what to call MHPF workers. Bodyguards, police, helpers; all had been debated and discarded. They'd decided on MHPF Professionals, but it was so long everyone just called them Keepers. It's what they were there to do: keep the mods safe. Keep others safe from the mods.

“It makes him feel like he's in a zoo.”

Brienne sighs. “Fine. The reports say his ability is touch-based, though it's vague on what exactly it does. Something about transmission of sensation. The other Keep-- Professionals who've worked with him say he's not dangerous physically, but that he's cruel with his words. That he's quick to anger, hard to please, sometimes talks without ceasing and other times will be silent for days. He doesn't leave his home much but when he does, he relies heavily on his Professionals to guard him. His only living family is his brother.” She tries to recall all the details of his file; she'd studied it religiously for just this moment. “Tyrion,” she remembers. “He had a twin sister, Cersei, but she died with their father. Their mother died years ago.” 

Addam's nodding, taking it all in. “Don't talk about his family.”

“Even the brother? I thought they got along?”

“They don't,” Addam says firmly, and then they're at a huge archway she remembers from their tour. He stops her with a gentle pressure on her arm, but she's vividly aware of each fingertip through her sleeve. “Let me do the introductions. Don't try to shake his hand. Don't ask him questions. Answer if he talks to you, but just let me lead here, all right?”

Brienne chews her lip. She doesn't like the semi-desperate note in Addam's voice, already doesn't like Jaime Lannister based on everything she knows about him, and she's never been the best at hiding her displeasure. But she's promised herself she's staying around long enough to be of use, so she nods in agreement. “All right. You lead.” 

Addam exhales. “Great. Good. Let's go then.” 

Their mod isn't in the room yet when they walk in, which Brienne is grateful for because her mouth drops open at the huge spread of food on the table. 

“How many people are at this dinner?”

“Just the three of us,” Addam says. “Whatever we don't eat goes to the staff, and leftovers get donated to local shelters.”

“Your orders, I assume.”

“No,” Addam says, before a door on the far wall opens and her new assignment walks in. 

Brienne has seen pictures of Jaime Lannister before, both as part of her study for this job and even when she was a girl and he was on TV, a scared teenager being hounded by reporters trying to figure out what his particular curse was. But people always look different onscreen compared to in person, and it's true here, too. She's seen that he's handsome and well-built. She knows he's tall and has blond hair and green eyes. Those are all facts. But in person the truth is something else entirely. 

His beauty is the most immediate thing she notices. It's otherworldly, like one of his parents might have been a god. His body makes its way through the world with a natural grace, all loose limbs and coiled power. His blond hair is actually golden, cut short but still curly on top, a glimmering crown on his head. The closer he gets, the sharper his eyes become, and they're green and mysterious as the deep forests of Tarth. The clothes he's wearing – jeans and a button-down, too, though his are all black – seem like they were tailored just for his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He's got black boots on his feet and black leather gloves on his hands and a black look on his face as he glares at her. 

“Who's this?” he snaps. Even his voice is rich and full. Brienne shakes herself a little, feeling a bit like she's been hypnotized. Renly had been beautiful, too, but his draw had not been as carnal as Jaime Lannister's. She's nearly overwhelmed with the urge to touch him and prove he's real. 

“This is Brienne Tarth, your new MHPF Professional.” 

Brienne can feel the weight of Lannister's stare as he looks her up and down in disdain. “Awfully big for a woman, aren't you?” 

She glances at Addam and he gives her a tight-lipped, encouraging smile. She opts for the conciliatory route to start with. She's been called worse. “Yes,” she tells Lannister. 

“Are you excited to be here, Ms. Tarth?” 

“Yes,” she lies. 

Lannister smirks. “Are you lying?”

She hesitates for only a moment. “Yes.”

“Not too talkative, is she? I'm sure she'll make a fantastic dinner companion.” Lannister takes a seat at the head of the table and gestures impatiently for them to join him. 

Brienne shifts her frustrated glare to Addam and he mouths _Sorry_ , before taking the seat to Lannister's left, which leaves Brienne for his right. Up close, Lannister's shining gold hair looks soft, his jaw is sharp and closely shaved. He's nicked himself, though, several little cuts scattered over his jaw and neck. 

“Like what you see?” he asks, catching her in her examination of his face. “Genetically engineered perfection can be hard to resist.” 

She flushes and looks down at her plate, and he laughs bitterly but leaves her alone. 

“Are they saddling you with rookies now?” he directs to Addam instead. 

“Brienne's been with MHPF for three years. She's a well-respected Professional. We're lucky to have her here.” He sounds like he means that, and Brienne shoots him a quick, grateful smile. 

“Who was your last assignment?” Lannister asks her. 

“I'm not at liberty to say.” It's technically true that they're not allowed to publicize which mods they've protected, but she knows all the mods talk to each other about it. Though Lannister has kept notoriously to himself, so it's possible he really doesn't know. 

“Went that well, did it?” he says snidely, but then his gaze narrows. “Wait, were you the one that let Renly die?”

“I didn't _let_ him die,” she snaps, and Addam sighs but he has to know she can't let that stand. “I did everything in my power to save him.” 

“Then you must be much weaker than you look because that didn't work out well at all, did it?” She's ready to defend herself, but Lannister turns to Addam. “Really, Addam, I get the failures now? Is your beloved MHPF really that depleted that they send me _her_?”

“She's good at her job, Jaime,” Addam says quietly. “Give her a chance.” 

“A chance? Hopefully not the same chance Renly gave her. I'll be dead by morning otherwise.”

Brienne stands, shoving her chair backward, and both men stare up at her. “Stop talking about me like I'm not here,” she commands, all fury and memory. She had tried so hard to save Renly, but there had been nothing she could do. In the end he'd paid the price for the curse bequeathed by his family, just like all the rest. “The reason MHPF sent me, Mr. Lannister, is because you have done away with every other person who was even willing to attempt this godsforsaken assignment. It's a miracle Addam has lasted as long as he has, and he looks like he's ready to break any minute.” Addam's eyes go wide with surprise but she barrels on. “I've been in your presence five minutes and I already want to leave.” 

“Please do,” Lannister says, sharp and clear as glass. “Save me the trouble of firing you.” 

Brienne wants to. Every part of her knows this assignment is going to be a battle she is not prepared for, but Addam's pleading with his eyes and she hasn't even been here a day. She can't quit just because Lannister is rude. 

“I don't plan on saving you any trouble at all,” she says, re-taking her seat, and she thinks Lannister's mouth twitches briefly with amusement, but he just waves his hand and starts serving himself from the nearest container of food. 

She and Addam watch each other for a moment and then Addam grabs a roll and tosses it to her, and she grabs it out of the air. He grins, mouths _Thank you_ , and they all three fill their plates in silence.

* * *

“That went better than I expected,” Addam says later when they're walking back to their wing. Brienne had been quiet through the rest of dinner, and Lannister had asked Addam a few questions about his day but they'd mostly been quiet, too. When his plate was clean, Lannister had stood, glanced her way, and then walked out of the room without another word. 

“The reports weren't lying about him,” Brienne grumbles, and Addam snorts, but he's relaxed for the first time since she got here. “Are we done for the night?”

“Yep. After dinner Jaime retreats to his wing and we won't see him again until breakfast.”

“He never calls for you in the middle of the night?” That was often when she'd been busiest with Renly. He'd had terrible nightmares, and Brienne would softly sing an old lullaby to him to get him back to sleep. She can't even think of the song now without feeling her throat close with a tight panic. 

“No. One of the few perks of this particular assignment.” Addam holds open the door to their space. “That and the accommodations.” 

“The food was pretty good, too,” she says, patting her full stomach, and Addam laughs knowingly. 

“I'm really glad you're here,” he says, and his eyes and his smile are warm and pleased. Brienne feels a small blush on the hills of her cheeks. His lips had been soft and sure. They'd both been drunk, but not so drunk she can't remember how it had felt. But she's not here for that, she reminds herself.

“I'm happy to help,” she tells him. “For now, though, I'm looking forward to crawling into my absurdly big bed and watching some TV.” 

“Sounds like a plan. I'll do the same.” 

Brienne considers for half a second too long the idea of him crawling into her bed, too. Then reason sets in and Addam heads for his door and she inwardly scolds herself. Men don't crawl into bed with Brienne, no matter how lonely they've been for the last year. She wonders if Lannister even lets Addam out to date. Or if perhaps some of the most salacious rumors about the two of them are true. 

No. That can't be possible. Addam is too bound by regulation and Lannister is too aggressively distant. Whatever Lannister's power is, he keeps himself separate from everyone, even Addam. Or else Addam wouldn't look as haggard as he does. For a man as gregarious and helpful and eager to connect as Addam is, it must feel like a torture contrived especially for him. 

Which is why Brienne knows she'll outlast Addam in the end, because she sees more of herself in Jaime Lannister than she likes to admit.


	2. Chapter 2

That night she dreams of golden skin, hot and soft against her palm – _yes_ , someone moans, _yes_ – the rough scrape of callouses over the arch of her ribs, the scratch of red stubble between her thighs – _like this? Yes, more, please more_ – legs sliding together and between each other, and two mouths touching her all over. 

In the morning, she wakes, gasping and cursing herself.

* * *

Brienne gets up before the alarm, still feeling unrested, her skin buzzing. If Addam says anything she'll tell him it's just being in a strange bed, on an unfamiliar pillow. She shuffles out of her room in a pair of cutoff sweat shorts and an MHPF t-shirt and discovers him making coffee already. He's in gray sweatpants, but he's bare-chested and his hair is a mess. She has a moment to admire the lean muscles of his back, the small scattering of freckles along the line of his shoulders, and she forces back the dream still lingering at the edges of her scattered thoughts. It's an oddly domestic moment when he turns and hands her a steaming mug. 

“Bless you and all your kin,” she mumbles, taking it gingerly.

“Creamer and sugar over on the island. I wasn't sure how you take yours, so if you tell me, I can do that for you, too.” 

“Depends on the brew,” she says. This one smells delicious and nutty, and though she burns her tongue a little when she sips it, it doesn't need anything else. 

“Sleep all right?”

“Yeah,” she lies. “You?”

“Best night of sleep I've had in awhile, actually.” Addam sips from his own mug, leaning his hip against the counter to look at her. “I'm really glad you're here.”

“You said that already,” she murmurs, blushing. 

“I guess I must really mean it.” There's a serious cast to his tone even if he's smiling. “This isn't an easy assignment.”

“I knew that before I took it.”

“It can get lonely. Having someone else around really helps, but the last few through here haven't been the best. I know this is under less-than-ideal circumstances, but I was relieved when Catelyn told me you were up for this.” Addam sets his mug down, folds his arms across his lean chest. “I'm sorry about what happened with Renly. I know you'd been with him for awhile. It always hurts when your mod dies.” 

“It was hard,” she admits quietly. “But I didn't want to sit at home alone any more. That was worse. I'm glad to be here. With you.”

Addam leans back against the counter, and she feels like he's sizing her up, but she doesn't know for what. Whatever it is, he just nods and takes his mug over to the couch to read the newspaper waiting there. 

Brienne follows and sits down near him, taking a section of the paper for herself. She's halfway through her coffee and an article on how the stock market has been affected by the death of so many wealthy heirs, when there's a knock on their door. Addam furrows his brow but says, “Come in.” 

She's expecting Peck, but Lannister walks in instead, in his long sleeves and long pants and gloves, and Addam's dismayed grunt of surprise tells her this is not a regular occurrence. 

“Good morning, Alphabet,” Lannister says with a falsely charming smile. 

“What?” Addam asks. 

“Oh, I've decided to call the two of you Alphabet. Saves me two whole syllables of work and you're already A and B.”

“That's a stretch,” Addam mutters, but Lannister either doesn't hear him or pretends not to. “What are you doing here, Jaime?”

“Checking in on my new zookeeper, of course. You don't look quite as impressive in those shorts, Bet.” Brienne lays the newspaper over her exposed thighs, and Lannister smirks a little. 

“Let us get dressed first at least, will you?” Addam says. 

“But you two look so cozy like this. Like an old married couple. I'm glad I got to see it.” 

Brienne can't stop the flush that swarms down her neck through her chest, so she stands, ready to retreat to her room. 

“Don't hurry out on my account,” Lannister goes on. He takes a nearby armchair and sprawls easily in it, and she thinks someone could paint him like this and make a fortune. “I'll take some coffee, though, Bet, while you're up.”

“I'll get it,” Addam says, starting to rise, but Lannister shakes his head, a sharp command, and Addam reluctantly sits again. 

“I'm sure she knows how to pour a mug of already-made coffee. She's not that dull, Addam, give her some credit.” 

Brienne glares at Lannister, but she gets him his coffee anyway and wonders how much trouble she'd be in if she accidentally spilled it in his lap. Probably enough to get herself fired, and she's not willing to do that to Addam. Not yet, at least. It's only been a day. 

She carefully carries the mug over and Addam stands then, right in her way, and takes it from her. “Let me do it,” he says and his face is a mask of tight lines but she doesn't know why. “Here,” he says, holding it out to Lannister. 

They're staring intently at each other when Lannister reaches for the handle Addam's got pointed his way, but as soon as his fingers touch the ceramic they both stiffen, and then Lannister pulls the mug free and Addam shivers and sits quickly back down. Brienne has no idea what just happened; they didn't even come into contact, but neither man wants to look at the other now, and they're both avoiding her, too. 

“Good coffee,” Lannister says after a minute and Addam grunts. “How was your sleep, Bet?” His tone is knowing, like he can see the unease simmering beneath her skin. 

“Fine.”

“Pillow comfy enough?”

“Yes.” It's safer to keep to one word answers; she's less likely to get herself thrown out on the street that way. 

“I see they sent you here because you're such a scintillating conversationalist.” 

Brienne frowns down at her own coffee, which could do with a refill. “I should get dressed,” she says. 

“Stay and chat awhile. I'm sure I can get a complete paragraph out of you before we all die of starvation.” 

“Jaime,” Addam sighs. “Can we pick this up over breakfast? I could use a shower.”

“Go ahead, I'll keep her company.” 

Addam looks at Brienne and she nods firmly. She's an adult, and well-trained, and here to protect Lannister even if he doesn't want it. Being alone with him is going to happen at some point, it may as well be here with Addam just one room over. 

Once Addam has retreated, Lannister sets his mug down on the coffee table and leans towards Brienne, elbows on his knees. “We didn't shake hands last night.”

“Addam said I shouldn't touch you.” 

“He's touched me.”

“Has he?” she asks, nonchalantly, she hopes. 

“You should ask him when he gets back, see if he'll tell you about it.”

“He will,” she says, and this time her confidence is earned. 

Lannister leans back in his chair and gives a small, interested grunt. “He trusts you, then.”

“He trained me when I first joined MHPF. We've kept in touch since.”

“He likes you,” he says in the tone one child uses to tease another. 

“I like him, too,” Brienne says simply. “He's a good man.”

“Not like me.” There's no teasing now. “You'd think they could have modified me a better personality while they were messing around in there, wouldn't you?”

Despite herself, Brienne laughs a little. “I'd had the thought,” she says, and his smile is whip-quick and pleased. 

Lannister takes a long sip of his coffee, but he watches her the whole time he's doing it, and she feels like he's seeing behind her skin to the veins and marrow and organs inside. “Why did you join the MHPF?”

“I wanted to.” 

One perfect, golden eyebrow lifts. “But why?”

Brienne can't look at him anymore; he's too beautiful, for one, and her dream is still too close, for another, but mostly because her reason for joining MHPF feels silly now when presented with what it means to have a more perfect human right in front of her. She's never felt all her own imperfections more deeply than this moment, and the truth sits lodged in her throat, the words too clunky and hard-edged to come out. 

“You can't have done it for money, I'm well aware of how badly you're paid for what you do. What is it then? The thrill? An escape?” His tone is low and demanding and she knows she's going to tell him, though she tries to resist. Lannister's voice is a blade, slicing her open in thin layers to peer inside. “I doubt you did it for fame, you don't seem the type to welcome much interest. Did you do it for love?” 

She curls in on herself a little and he makes a small, triumphant noise. 

“Love, then. Which mod was it that captured your heart? Rhaegar, perhaps? Or Elia?” Another layer, he's so close, one more delicate slash and he'll know. “Ah,” he says and Brienne glances up at him. He's nearly off of his chair he's leaning so far forward. From her spot on the couch she could reach out and touch him. “Renly.”

“It wasn't love when I joined,” she insists. “It was sympathy.” 

“Sympathy? For the mods?” Brienne nods and he looks angry. “Why would someone like you be sympathetic towards us? Look at you.” 

“I know,” she whispers. She sees herself every day, a person made entirely through a series of random choices that spit out her features and personality, like a slot machine that only ever loses. “But every time I saw one of you on TV, you seemed so sad.”

Lannister stands in a rush and Brienne's training kicks in and she's on her feet, too, balancing lightly, ready to defend either herself or him. For a second she hopes they'll have to fight, to pit herself against the once-in-a-lifetime battle he's sure to give her. 

But he sneers and turns away. “Pity yourself, Bet. If you saw sadness, you were only noticing your own reflection in the screen.” 

“It's all right to hate what they've done to you,” she says when he's halfway to the door. He halts and she hopes and fears he'll turn and send her away. Jaime's broad shoulders hunch forward, the round curve of a shield. 

“I prefer to cut out the middle-man and hate myself,” he says, and then he's gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

By the time she's had a shower and gotten ready for the day, Addam's dressed and waiting for her. His hair and eyelashes are damp when he looks up at her arrival. 

“Jaime said you touched him,” she says and Addam winces a little. “He said I should ask you about it.”

“Jaime's a troublemaker,” Addam mutters, but he pats the couch and she sits down near him. She's tall and the coffee table is close so her knees hover near his, a fingertip away from touching. 

“I haven't had sex with him,” Addam starts, and Brienne's face goes so hot she presses her palms to her cheeks. “I know what the others say. I know how he acts. But we've only ever touched once.”

“What happened?”

“They told me not to shake his hand, not to touch him, same as I told you, and I didn't. For weeks I didn't. He wanders the grounds a lot, by himself, with one of us nearby but never too close. Sometimes he'll talk to us, but a lot of times he's just quiet. Withdrawn. Occasionally he gets reckless. This was one of those times. He climbed up one of the trees out there and was shouting terrible jokes down at me. He was carefree.” Addam smiles, something unexpectedly tender. They may not have had sex, but there is something here Brienne averts her eyes from. “Then he fell out of the tree.” 

“How is that possible?” she asks, thinking of the way the ground itself seems to be where Jaime's feet command it. 

“He's human, Brienne,” Addam says intently. His hazel eyes search hers, looking for understanding. “They're all human. They make mistakes. They fall down. You know that better than anybody.”

She swallows down the image of Renly – he'd gone so far so fast and she couldn't catch him – and nods. 

“Jaime made a mistake. I rushed over and I pressed my hand to the cut on his head to stop the bleeding.” Addam shudders a little with the memory, but he doesn't say more. 

“And?”

Addam rubs his chin and then exhales slow. “The records are correct: Jaime's ability is to transmit sensation. But that doesn't really tell you what it's like. When I touched him, I became him in that moment. I felt myself against his skin. I felt his blood against my hand. All happening at once. Brains aren't meant to do that. It was like my mind had split in two and half of it was with him and half of his was with me. He shoved me off and covered the wound himself, and I had a headache for hours afterward.” 

“What about him?”

He shrugs. “He seemed fine, I thought. Injured, obviously, but it healed quickly and certainly the touch, at the time, didn't seem to affect him at all. But it did. He's better at dealing with it, but there's an... awareness of what his body feels like. Of what mine feels like to him.” 

“After one touch?”

“Maybe it's worse because he was bleeding, because I was sweating. But if we touch the same thing together, it's like we're brushing up against each other.”

Not sex, but sensual nonetheless. Brienne's blushing again and Addam gives her a crooked smile. 

“It sounds tawdry,” he says, his voice full of self-directed amusement. 

“Not tawdry but... intimate,” she admits. Addam looks away. “If it's so much more intense for you, why didn't you let me give him the coffee? It would be safer for me to do it.” 

Addam stands abruptly and goes to retrieve his laptop from the nearby desk. _Oh_ , she thinks. _The intimacy is the point._

“I won't get in between you two,” she tells the tense line of Addam's back. 

“There's not anything to get in between,” he tells the wall. 

“Addam,” she says, and when he doesn't turn, she walks towards him. She touches his shoulder, laying her palm along the round edge of it. She can feel the hard press of muscle under his shirt. He doesn't flinch or pull away, though; he relaxes under her hand. “There's nothing wrong with what you're doing. We're with our mods every day. Of course we grow to care about them. Care for them. And what happened between the two of you is more profound than most.”

He covers her hand with his, and she shivers at the feel of his callouses on her skin. “This is why I'm glad it's you here,” Addam says. He turns and their hands return to themselves. The gratitude on his face hurts her to see, like staring into a too-bright light. “You're right, though, I should let you do more. Come on, let's look at the schedule and we'll work something out.”

She joins him on the couch again, but this time she sits further away, the top of her hand still burning from the rub of his callouses.

* * *

Addam still looks like he needs a month off, so Brienne insists on taking the afternoon shift that day. They'll split three days a week, then each work two full days and get two full days off, though they can't go too far even on those days. Addam changes back into gym clothes and there's a bounce in his step when he says he'll be back in time to walk with her to dinner. Brienne settles in with her laptop to check her MHPF email, while she leaves the TV on for mindless company. It's familiar, alone in her space with just canned laughter. 

That's when her phone dings. 

_Come to my room_ the message from Jaime says. 

She types in a quick response that she's on her way and pulls on a comfortable pair of tennis shoes in case he wants to go for a stroll. The path to his wing is long but direct, and soon she's at the double doors to his room. Brienne tugs down her plain black t-shirt and knocks firmly at the door. 

“Come in,” he tells her, and she does, opening just one of the doors and peering inside. She had expected something dark and claustrophobic, she realizes when the light hits her. Heavy curtains and lots of velvet accents. Gargoyles, perhaps. This room has none of that. There's a huge window, as there is in their space, and everything is decorated in gentle colors: light grays and pale yellows, pastel blues and purples. It's pleasant, which shocks her. 

Jaime is frowning, which does not. “I tried Addam first but he told me to contact you. Where is he?”

“We sent you the schedule,” she tells him. “I'll be with you this afternoon.” 

“Fantastic,” he says, all sarcasm. He's sprawling again, this time on his own couch, which is bigger and more expensive than theirs. He takes up half of it, one leg down, the other up and stretched out, his thighs spread. She focuses on his face. 

“How can I help you, Mr. Lannister?”

He waves his hand. “If you insist on staying around, you might as well call me Jaime.” 

“What do you need, Jaime?”

It's a simple question, one she's asked other mods, but Jaime seems to roll it around like he's playing with it, a suggestive smile on his lips. “Need,” he says and she flushes, cursing her pale skin when he laughs a little. It's not cruel, but it's not kind, either. 

“Did you want to go for a walk?” she presses. 

“Shall I say yes and wag my tail like an eager puppy?” 

Brienne huffs. “If it would make you feel better, please do.” 

His laugh then is genuinely amused. “There is some fire to you, Bet. I feared you were all water.” 

“Water's more powerful than fire,” she says. Jaime stands with perfect ease, like gravity is pushing him up, not pulling him down like the rest of them. 

“It is,” he agrees, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Come on.” 

He walks directly towards her and she stands there, wondering if he'll walk straight into her or go around, and she sees he's wondering the same about her as he nears. _He's going to run into me_ , she thinks, as he's ten steps away, seven, three. 

Jaime halts a handspan away. The heat of his body is intense, like he's feverish, and she lifts her hand to feel his forehead but stops halfway there. 

“You're a better wall than a Keeper.” His breath washes over her skin and she shivers. 

“I thought you didn't like that word.”

Jaime's brow furrows, three little lines forming just above his nose, small ridges that smooth again when he realizes what she means. “I don't,” he agrees, his tone light. “But I do like you thinking of me as a wild animal.” 

“You're not an animal,” she says seriously, and Jaime smirks. 

“But I am quite wild.” He moves around her, a ghost passing near without touching, and she exhales a touch too shakily as she turns to follow him out.

* * *

Their walk is unexpectedly dull. Jaime doesn't even talk to her, just strolls around the grounds, Brienne behind at a respectable distance, watching him watching the world. When they arrive at his wing again, he releases her before he goes into his room and shuts the door. 

It's a long walk back to her shared wing with Addam. 

When she returns, Addam is there sitting on their couch, watching TV. As soon as she steps inside he jumps to his feet. 

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” she agrees. “I was with Jaime. He wanted to go on a walk.”

“Everything all right?” he asks, far more worried than her afternoon deserves. 

“Just fine. I don't know what you think he's going to do, Addam, but I can handle myself. You should know that,” she says, grinning at him, and he smiles sheepishly. 

“Of course I do. I remember the beating you gave me in our last sparring session.”

That had been over a year ago, just before Addam got assigned to be Jaime's new MHPF Keeper. He'd been so proud of her for putting him down on the mat three times in succession. 

“I bet you're out of practice,” she tells him. “We should go again.” 

“I'm not sure my ego could take what you'd do to me now,” he says, laughing. 

“I'll be gentle.”

Addam's gaze roves over her body, from her t-shirt to white tennis shoes and back again. He's only gauging her strength, her readiness, but it stirs a buzz deep in her center. 

“Maybe tomorrow,” he says, turning away. “I just worked out, I want to be fresh.” 

They entertain themselves separately until dinner, and when they arrive, Jaime is already seated. 

“Good evening, Alphabet,” he greets them, gesturing at the overfilled table. 

“I wish you'd just call us by our names,” Addam says as he sits down. Brienne can interpret his tone now that she knows what's between them, hears the fondness in it along with the irritation. 

“I wish you'd stop wearing that cologne but you won't do that, either.” Jaime's voice holds a matching bitter care, and Brienne feels like an awkward third participant on a date for two. “Tell him, Bet. Surely you can't stand it either,” Jaime directs towards her, pulling her into their game. 

She shrugs a little, paying extra attention to unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. “I think Addam smells nice.” 

“Hah!” When she glances up, Addam's smiling warmly at her. “Thank you, _Brienne_.”

“You act like I don't know her name.”

“I'm not convinced you know _my_ name,” Addam says, failing to hide his mirth. He's much happier this evening, and she's glad the time off did him so much good. 

“Brienne,” Jaime says meaningfully, “tells me you trained her.” He serves himself first, and they give him the space, let him claim it so none of them touch. 

“I did, at first. She's a fast learner, though. Surpassed me quickly. We were just talking about the last time we sparred.”

“She beat you, I hope.” 

“Solidly.” Addam's still grinning, and he doesn't seem upset. 

Jaime pulls his plate back, only half full. “I used to spar hand-to-hand, when I was younger.” Brienne and Addam exchange a look over the bowl full of roasted vegetables. “I fence now. Safer,” Jaime says, a swift jab of bitterness. “Do you fence, Bet?”

“I have,” she says.

“Then you can fence with me.”

Addam straightens a little in his chair. “Are you sure?”

“We'll have full gear on, Mother, not to worry.” Addam makes a face, but Jaime ignores him. “What do you say, Bet? Tomorrow?”

She glances at Addam and he shrugs a little, leaving it up to her. “Sure,” she says. “I'm a little rusty, but I'd be happy to.” 

“Wonderful. Then tomorrow we duel.”


	3. Chapter 3

She dreams again. Of a blade, pressed flat to her bare stomach. Two hands hold her wrists above her head. She knows those hands. The cool metal slides down her skin, to her thighs. _You want this_ a man's voice says. _Yes. Yes, give me the sword._ The hands at her wrists tighten. She's not afraid.

* * *

Brienne's restless all morning. She knows why, but she ignores it because she knows how wrong it is. Still, it's comforting to have Addam there holding out a mug for her when she wakes, with his shaggy hair and bare chest and warm smile. To have him at her side as they walk to the gym where Jaime is waiting for them. Brienne's nervous even though it's just fencing. She's done it before, was the best saber fencer in MHPF at one time. It's been awhile since she's sparred with a blade, though. 

Jaime has sabers for them when she arrives, and he gestures at a jacket and helmet and gloves. 

“Those should fit you,” he says. When she puts them on, they smell like him. The jacket is a little tight around the shoulders, the gloves a little short in the fingers, but it all fits well enough. 

They salute each other from across the piste. 

“Addam, you're the judge,” Jaime announces. “Standard scoring rules.” 

“It doesn't have to be scored,” Brienne says, glancing between the men. 

“Afraid to lose, Bet?” 

She tightens her grip on the hilt; underneath her hands, the leather wrapped around firm wood is softening in her hand. “Not to you,” she says, and Addam barks a laugh. 

“Fence!” Addam declares, and the bout begins. Jaime advances on her and she waits for him, just like in his room the day before, but this time he's not going to stop and she's not afraid. 

He lunges, she parries; he ripostes, she counter-parries. Jaime is a blur of movement and it takes all Brienne has just to keep him at bay. His slashes are precise, his thrusts are powerful. Brienne knows her own strength, and he is match enough for her. Sparring hand-to-hand with him would be a rare challenge and she wants it, but Jaime presses his attack with enthusiasm and she doesn't have time for wanting. Instead Brienne side-steps and their blades glissande, sliding together with a hiss until their feet are near enough that Addam says, “Halt the match.” 

“What?” Jaime snaps from behind the shadows of his mask. At least he's breathing as hard as she is. She can see his eyes behind the mesh. He's not looking at Addam. 

“Your feet touched.”

“They didn't,” Brienne says, and Jaime gives her a small nod. She slides her foot back and away from his, and they put a few feet of space between their bodies. Addam purses his lips, but he believes her. 

They re-take their starting positions and salute each other. 

“Fence!” Addam calls again. 

Jaime closes even quicker this time, Brienne waits again for him to arrive. 

“So shy,” Jaime sneers as he lunges; laughs when she bats his blade away and doesn't take the opening he so obviously leaves for her as a trap. “But smart.” 

She grunts when their blades meet with a loud clang. He attacks and attacks and attacks and she blocks every one, but he'll get a hit soon if she doesn't do something. 

“What's wrong, Bet?” he says when her counter-attack does nothing and she huffs, annoyed. Brienne does lunge for him then and beneath the criss-crossing mesh she sees him grin just before he easily parries her away. The movements are familiar, but faintly, like trying to remember the words to a song she used to love. When he attacks again she tries a moulinet, but she realizes it's too slow halfway through and his blade slips free and the dull point lands with a meaty thud into her upper arm. 

“Halt!” Addam says. “Point for Jaime.” 

“Shit,” she mutters, frustrated. 

“I drew first blood,” Jaime announces proudly. 

“You won't draw second,” she promises. 

Salute, “Fence!”, attack. This time she moves, too, but he's faster – she thinks even if she leapt forward at the first Jaime would still be faster. But she's attacking now, focusing on the forceful slashes she relied on when she was champion. Jaime is elegance and quickness, Brienne is power and determination. 

She stares him down, stamps her foot to make him think she's lunging, and when he tenses high she cuts low, the tip of her saber thrusting into his belly. 

“Halt!”

Jaime snarls and straightens. “You tricked me,” he says, pouting. Safe behind her mask, Brienne grins at him, and his eyes widen a little. 

She's flush with victory and when Addam calls, “Fence!” again, she gets off the line first, and they meet halfway with a clash. 

Jaime scores the next two points. Brienne the two after that. They trade back and forth for the allotted three, three-minute rounds, and by the time Addam says, “Time's up!” they're tied at fourteen points. 

They're both breathing heavily and Brienne is sweating. She feels it at her temple, dripping down the line of her back, damp on her thighs. 

“We need a tiebreaker,” Jaime insists, and she nods. She doesn't want to tie with him, she wants to win. 

“Time's up,” Addam says, standing and moving in-between them on the piste. “The bout's over.”

“It's over when I say it's over,” Jaime says, and Addam shifts so he's turned more towards Jaime. Brienne can see tension in the curl of his bicep. 

“It's over when the time is up and the judge says it's over.” He looks over his shoulder at Brienne, and she can see him quietly asking her to take his side. She doesn't want to – she wants to keep fighting. But it's only her third day and Addam is her partner so she nods, pulling her mask off. She must look awful, red and sweaty, her limp hair stringy and pressed to her head, but Addam only looks relieved, not repulsed, and soon Jaime follows suit, pointing the tip of his saber to the floor. 

Jaime, as to be expected, is glowing, his sweat a perfect sheen on his brow, his hair curled against his head, a high flush along the line of his cheekbones so he looks like he's come from a bout in the bedroom, not the piste. “Later,” he tells her, and she looks quickly away.

* * *

She dreams. Four hands caressing, touching, until she can't think beyond the sensation of fingers pressing into her hips, massaging her breasts, tangled in her hair, teasing at her mouth. She tastes salt and sweet. _Please_ , she begs. _I need--_

She aches and she dreams, and she wakes alone.

* * *

It's Addam's full day off and he's already gone when Brienne gets up in the morning. There's coffee waiting for her in the pot, and a note saying he's out but not too far, to call if she needs him. She presses her thighs together while she drinks her coffee, trying to soothe the pressure she feels down low. The distance will be good, she hopes, a chance to remember what it's like to be alone and quell the inappropriate and urgent need that keeps surging to the surface at night. _I'm just not used to being around people anymore_ , she tells herself firmly. 

Jaime seems to have no intention of letting her linger by herself, though. He comes for her before breakfast, holding two fencing sabers. Taking one by the blade, he thrusts the hilt into her hands before he even says good morning. He's in sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, but he has no gloves. Her gaze lingers on the veins along the top of his hand as it curls around the metal. 

“What's this?” she asks. 

“A sword. You must have the memory of a goldfish if you can't remember that.” Brienne wishes she could hear the same fondness in Jaime's sneer as he gives to Addam. 

“Why did you bring them here?”

“We have a tie to settle.” 

“Who's going to judge us?” 

Jaime lifts his chin imperiously. “We judge ourselves. But first,” he taps the inside of one of her bare thighs with his sword and she shivers at the blade's cool touch. “You should change.” 

Brienne changes into her exercise leggings and a fresh t-shirt and when she emerges from her room Jaime's eyes flare before he turns on his heel. “Let's go.” 

They kit out in jackets, but Jaime waves off the gloves and helmets. “I trust you'll avoid injuring my handsome face, Bet.” 

“What if one of us accidentally strikes the other in the eye?”

He shrugs. “Then we'll have an interesting story for the emergency room.” Jaime salutes her from across the piste and she returns it. She's fenced without helmets before, and she trusts Jaime's skill and her own. Neither of them had even gotten near the other's face the day before. 

“Fence!” Jaime says without warning and he leaps at her, striking her almost immediately. He grimaces and slashes his blade towards the floor. “What was that?”

“You cheated!”

“Cheated? You think I need to cheat to beat you?”

“Obviously,” she says and he scoffs so loudly it stirs the air all around her. “If you're so sure you don't, then go again, and this time I'll start the match.” 

“Ah, so now you'll cheat.” 

“I'll count down,” she says, genuinely offended. “I'd rather lose than cheat to win.” 

“Admirable, Bet. And foolish. Fine, you start us out and I'll beat you again.” 

They face each other across the way and Brienne marvels at the urgency she can see sliding beneath his skin. He wants this fight, and she does, too. Even if he wins, she'll make him work for every inch of it. 

“Three... two... one... fence!” she says. 

Their match is long and potent, and the air thickens as their swords meet again and again. She parries him, he counters her, their attacks are targeted but ineffective every time. Brienne is sweating and so is Jaime, his cheeks flushed, his eyes alight. He looks like he's burning up from the inside, like if she touched him now it would weld her skin to his. He's a flame, dancing and beautiful and dangerous and she wants to pour herself over him. 

Slashing and cutting, their arms growing tired, the polite distance of form falls apart and they're locked in a true battle now, with no one to tell them to stop. Brienne wants to slide her sword into his belly, sees Jaime's desire to thrust his into her. She's never fought with anyone like this, limitless and unbound. It's euphoric. He smiles the entire time, a shark's grin. It's maddening. 

Her own voice is loud in the echoing space as she grunts and growls and tries to bash her sword into his leg – a clear infraction of all the rules of saber fencing but they've long since left rules behind. Jaime side-steps her wild hack and pants, “Good thing you're slow or you might have hacked my leg off.”

“You'd deserve it,” she strikes back and she doesn't know why she feels this intensely towards him when she's known him so little, but she's reminded of Addam as he'd been the first day, exhausted and drowning. 

Though they're not touching, Brienne feels Jaime's weight against her as he attacks again, smiling and smiling, and she wonders what it would feel like to kiss that smile off of his face. As soon as she thinks it she stumbles and Jaime smacks her blade away then follows up with a backslash that lands with all his strength into her chest and the air rushes out of her as she falls to the ground onto her back. 

Brienne holds on to her sword even as her arm is flung wide, even though her hand goes numb when her elbow collides with the gym floor under the piste and she momentarily sees stars from the smack of her head into the ground. 

The sound of their heaving breaths fills the space while Brienne lays there, blinking up at the ceiling, staring into the lights. 

The light dims when Jaime stands between her spread legs and leans over her. His smile is gone at least. “Are you all right?” 

“Fuck,” she coughs, and he laughs a little and holds out his hand and she takes it, both of them moving with as little rational thought as they had moments before when they were fighting, her bare sweaty palm grasping his and suddenly her whole world inverts. 

Jaime isn't fire, he's a volcano under her touch and her hand is rough against his palm she can feel her heartbeat in his fingertips his grip is strong hers is stronger they taunt each other muscles pressed together, he is half in her and she is half in him and she wants to pull him all the way inside. Five seconds, ten, fifteen, if she just holds on it might work she might get her wish and melt all the way down.

“Brienne,” Jaime whispers, guttural and desperate and it's too much, she feels, she feels--

Brienne yanks her hand away, finally, scrambles to her feet and stumbles as the world re-adjusts to how it was before, and poorer for it. Jaime's got his hand still held out, holding the ghost of hers. Slowly, his eyes alone move, lifting, looking up at her from under golden lashes with a need so great she thinks a lifetime could not fill it. 

But she wants to. She almost reaches for him again because though it's only been a few seconds since she felt herself with his body, she already misses his weight in her mind. 

“What--” she starts, gasping. 

“Why did you take my hand?” he demands. 

She gapes at him for a moment. “Why did you offer it to me?” she shoots back. 

Jaime glares at her and lowers his hand to his side, rotating it around. His wrist hurts, she felt it. She rotates hers, too, though her wrist feels fine. 

“You didn't pull away,” he says quietly, searching her face, like he's trying to read her answer before she gives it. 

“ButI did.”

Jaime waves her words away with his sword hand, the blade flashing in the light. “Not at first. Not like... others.” 

“Like Addam.” 

“Like everyone,” he says, bitter and wounded. He lowers his sword, lets it clatter loudly to the floor. “That's the longest I've touched someone in twenty years,” he adds softly and her heart clatters to the ground, too. 

“Jaime--”

“ _Don't_ ,” he snaps. He crosses his arms and tucks his hands up into his armpits like gloves. “I don't need your pity. I'm perfect, remember?” 

“You're human.” She hears Addam's voice when she says it. 

“When's the last time someone touched _you_?” Jaime sneers and she knows he's lashing out in defense but it strikes her just as hard in the chest as his sword had. “I thought so.” He stalks past her, close but not touching, and she can still feel the rapid beat of his heart in her palm long after he's gone.

* * *

Brienne retreats to their rooms, clenching and unclenching her fingers, trying to chase the feeling of Jaime's hand in hers. It wasn't just _his_ hand though, it was hers, too, as he felt it. The pad of her thumb is oddly smooth, and her grip is stronger than she knew. She rubs her hands together, but it's not quite the same, like looking at herself in a distorted mirror. 

Or any mirror, she supposes. Brienne doesn't spend a lot of time examining herself. She knows her body, how long her reach is, how many squats she can do and with what weight on her shoulders; how to subdue a dangerous man as quickly as possible. None of that has prepared her for the way her tendons feel under Jaime's fingertips. 

How can she know herself and not know herself so much at the same time? 

Brienne goes into the bathroom and takes a deep breath before lifting her gaze to her reflection. Lips far too full and big, crooked teeth, a nose broken once before she joined the MHPF and once after. Eyes big and wide and wondering. She's the same person she was an hour ago, but she feels different, and she doesn't know why. Is this what Addam felt like when he touched Jaime? Is this what Jaime feels like when he touches someone else? 

There's the slam of the door to their rooms and Brienne hurries into the main area, muscles tensed, but it's only Jaime, fully armored once more in his pants and long-sleeve shirt and gloves. He folds his arms over his chest and stares down at her from the raised foyer. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, when Jaime doesn't speak. 

“I came to check on you.”

She curls her hand against her side. “I'm fine.”

Jaime sighs and lowers his arms, opening his stance. “I know touching me can be overwhelming. The last person I touched was unwell for a while after.”

“Addam.”

“Yes, Addam. He responded badly to it and you're much less experienced than he is.” 

Brienne's temper flares a little. “I'm a trained professional, Jaime, I can handle it.” 

“They don't train you for this,” he insists. 

He's not wrong, but she doesn't want to give ground so she just waves it off. “I'm fine,” she repeats forcefully. 

“You're stubborn,” he says, taking the few stairs down into the living space, and Brienne backs away a step instinctively. Jaime halts, a bitter smile on his face. “We've moved on to fear, I see.” 

“I'm not afraid,” she says, and it resonates like a barely-remembered dream. “You startled me.” 

“I was walking. I walked right towards you the other day and you stood your ground. Don't be a coward now, Bet.” 

“I'm not a coward,” she says between gritted teeth. 

Jaime's lip curls into something not quite a sneer. “Fine, then come closer.” 

She lifts her chin and pushes down whatever it is she's feeling – it's not fear, but it still shivers with the same anticipation – and moves closer to him, until he could reach out and grab her if he wanted to. “There,” she says. “Here I am.” 

“Here you are,” he agrees, his voice smoother. “No headaches?”

“No. I really do feel fine.” It's easy to say because she does, physically. 

Jaime's studying her like she's an unexpected outcome to an experiment. “No other side effects?”

Brienne licks her lips, hesitates on an answer. “What would you expect to see?”

“All the people I've touched have responded a little differently. The most consistent response is a headache. Everyone but you has gotten one. If you're telling the truth.” 

“I am. Do you get headaches after?”

“No. It's more...” Jaime's face pinches in thought, and his tone is guarded as he continues. “It's a deeper feeling than that.” 

“Like there's a hole,” she says quietly. 

He looks startled, but he nods. “Not that there's a piece of me missing--”

“But like something you didn't know you had is gone.”

His eyes widen and she sees movement as he lifts his hand nearer. Brienne fights every siren in her body to keep from pulling away, or pushing into him. But Jaime doesn't touch her, he rubs his chin instead. “Yes.”

“I'm fine,” she says one last time, and Jaime smiles. 

“I see that. You should consider yourself special, you know; I haven't touched many people.”

“I guess you should, too, because neither have I,” Brienne says, trying and failing to lighten what isn't a joke. 

Jaime lifts one eyebrow, but he doesn't mock her for it, and she's grateful for that. “Did it... was it all right?”

Brienne swallows, but he looks genuinely curious so she nods and tells the truth. “I liked it.” 

“You liked it,” he says in a voice that suggests she just told him the world was flat. Brienne certainly feels like she's standing on the edge. Jaime doesn't quite meet her eyes. “We shouldn't do it again.” 

“We shouldn't,” she agrees. It's disappointing, but the regulations are clear: minimize physical contact with the mods, and she and Jaime have no good reason to touch each other. At least not one that would stand up under Catelyn's scrutiny. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Jaime says. “Make sure you're okay. I won't need you for the rest of the afternoon.” 

Brienne nods and he nods back and it's silly, like they're two strange bobbleheads, and they both grin a little, cracking the awkward tension between them. 

“If you change your mind, I'll be here. Not much on my agenda today.” This time she manages the joking tone. 

“They really don't pay you enough.” 

She shrugs. “At least we get a room and food.”

“Don't forget access to all the amenities.” He gestures out the window at the pool and the grounds. “You're welcome to use any of them when you want. This place is far too big for how few people are here. You should make the most of all this space.”

He turns to go and she calls his name when he's at the door. “How many?” she asks. He frowns, confused. “How many people have you touched?” 

“Since the change?” Brienne nods. She doesn't think he'll tell her, until he says: “Twelve, including you.” 

She has so many more questions than that – did any of them touch him longer? Did they like it? Has he kissed anyone, or more? – but Brienne knows impropriety when she sees it so she accepts the answer he's given and lets him leave unimpeded. 

Brienne spends the rest of the day alone, and it's harder than it's ever been.

* * *

That evening, Addam returns from wherever he's been all day. 

“Hey!” he says all cheer, his smile lighting the foyer when he sees her. 

“Hey,” Brienne says. Her own smile is dimmer by far. Addam looks concerned and he's going to ask her in a second what's wrong so she goes first: “How was your day off? You look refreshed.” 

Her enthusiasm is more genuine now – he does look better, like he's been away for a week and not a single day – and he nods vigorously. “I went on a hike and swam in a lake not too far from here. It wasn't busy at all. I'll have to take you sometime.” He plops down on the couch and spreads out, his leg hovering near hers. She shifts away, afraid that if he touches her he'll know what happened in the gym. 

“That sounds nice,” she says, grateful when he leans his head back and shuts his eyes. 

“How'd it go today with Mr. Personality?”

Brienne snorts a little despite herself. “Nothing to report,” she lies. She's not good at it, but Addam's not looking at her and he just smiles a little with his eyes still closed. 

“Good. I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner then.” He opens his eyes and turns his head towards her and she realizes he smiles just as much as Jaime but it's so different: welcoming where Jaime's is a challenge; soothing where Jaime's incites. She suspects their smiles would taste different, too. 

Addam squeezes her knee, quick and friendly, before he disappears into his room and his touch is not like Jaime's at all, but she still feels it, too, after he's left.

* * *

Dinner is awkward. 

Brienne tries not to be, but as soon as Jaime enters the room he's more brusque and difficult than ever, snapping at them both, irritated at Addam for taking the day off, irritated at Brienne for breathing too loudly. Whatever ease they'd eked out earlier seems to have dissipated with their distance. 

None of it stops her and Jaime's hands from resting near each other on the table, like a dare neither of them is quite willing to take. She feels Addam watching them both and he's quiet on the walk back to their wing. 

When they get inside, Brienne takes off her shoes and Addam turns on a single lamp, the light yellow and not enough to touch more than the couch and coffee table. He stands in its pool and says, “You touched him.” 

Brienne sets her shoes next to Addam's in the rack by the door. Hers are noticeably bigger. “I did,” she tells the shoes. 

“And you didn't think that was something worthy of reporting?” he asks, his voice so tight it's a wonder it doesn't break halfway through. 

She looks over at him and he's got nearly the same arm-crossed pose as Jaime earlier, though she can still see the pale tips of Addam's fingers pressed into his sides. 

“I didn't,” she says. “I fell down, he held out a hand to help me up and I took it. That was all.” 

“Why did you fall?”

“Why does that matter?” she asks, frowning. 

“Did he push you?”

The line of rage in Addam's voice suddenly goes from blurry to crystal clear. He's not angry because she and Jaime touched; he's angry because he thinks Jaime forced it somehow, that Jaime hurt her. Brienne's not at all sure what to do with that knowledge – she's touched and offended in equal measure. 

“Would you ask a male colleague that question?” she asks. 

“If Jaime had ever treated one them like he treats you, maybe,” he says, defensive, but the fight quickly goes out of him. He sighs. “But probably not. You're right, I'm sorry.”

“We were fencing. He hit me hard and I fell backward.” Her chest still aches a little; she'd checked in the bathroom earlier and there was a bruise already purpling in a long welt. 

“Had to get that last point,” Addam murmurs, like he should have known better. He shakes his head a little and gestures for her to come nearer. She does, stepping into the light. “Which hand?”

She lifts her left hand, holds it palm up and he takes it, traces her palm gently with his index finger. There's no pattern to it; he seems to be trying to feel every line and callous, the smooth valley in the middle, the hard ridges where her bones are. She likes how safe her hand is in his. It lasts five seconds, ten, until she says, “Are you trying to feel Jaime?” He drops her hand like she's burned him. 

“No, I'm not--” Addam takes a step back, knocks into the coffee table and winces. “I should go to bed.” 

It's barely even nine but she lets him leave without saying anything and she wonders who he's thinking of when she hears his heavy sigh just before he closes his bedroom door.


	4. Chapter 4

She's burning, her blood is lava, moving hot and slow and molten through her as Jaime presses the palm of his hand to her chest, to her thigh, to her mound. _Like this?_ he asks. _Here?_ The feeling is too much to talk around but Addam says _Yes_ from above her and she realizes her head is nestled on his thighs, and he's rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders and Jaime says _Touch me, Brienne_ and she does. 

When she wakes, she's sweaty and gasping and she remembers every caress.

* * *

She and Jaime spend their days not touching each other. 

They move around as though there's an invisible barrier that separates them, keeping them at a safe distance. Brienne's grateful for it, because she keeps having sex dreams, no matter how many times she masturbates before bed. It's almost unbearable to wake up in the morning and be faced with Jaime, shining and smirking and real, when the night before she's imagined his tongue in every dip of her body. To come out of her room and Addam is always there, half-naked and waiting for her with coffee and a smile, even when she's just woken from a dream where he's hard against her ass. 

There are bonuses, however, to the distance. The more time she spends not touching Jaime, the more she picks up on his other qualities, like she's lost a sense and heightened the others. She discovers he's funny – biting in his remarks but not cruel – and takes returned jabs with a boyish glee. That he's smart and eager to share his knowledge on their walks. That he loves challenges and so does she, and they race each other everywhere: in the gardens, in the pool, down the long halls of the house. They never get close enough to touch, but they get close anyway. The halls of Casterly Rock echo with their shouted smack talk, Addam refereeing as their neutral third party, watching them with a smile that grows more fond every day. 

She and Jaime fence again, but only with Addam present, and they're always fully covered. Jaime never goes easy on her, and she relishes it. 

In contrast, she and Addam can't seem to stop touching each other. 

Brienne finds reasons to touch him casually – tapping his shoulder instead of calling his name, brushing an invisible crumb off of his chest, tugging his shirt sleeve to get his attention. Each touch is domestic, easily given with their shared history and work. But it feels shameless and brazen, though he returns every one: when he leans past her in the kitchen, he presses his hand to the small of her back; he brushes the tips of her fingers with his when he hands her her phone from the table. A dozen small connections every day until her skin is buzzing. 

She and Addam spend quiet afternoons reading together in their shared living space, they reminisce about their early days training, they share laughter at Jaime's sly humor over dinner, while Jaime preens eagerly for their attention. 

Time passes in a routine that is more pleasant than she can remember. Every day she touches Addam and explores Jaime. 

And every night she dreams about them both and wakes unfulfilled.

* * *

Eventually, Jaime wants to leave the house. It's Brienne's day off, but when their mod leaves the house, they both go with him. Especially this mod. 

Jaime has a plain silver sedan that they take. They decide that she will drive there and Addam will drive them home. They prepare themselves, and then she and Addam climb into the front seat and Jaime into the back. 

“I miss being able to leave the house without making a big production of it,” Jaime grouses from the back seat. 

“You say that every time,” Addam says calmly. He touches Brienne's wrist to indicate she can start driving. 

“Do you even know how to drive, Bet?”

Brienne looks in the rearview mirror; Jaime's eyes are bright as headlights. “Manual and automatic,” she tells him. 

“Fancy.” 

“Practical,” she says, her tone mild. The more worried Jaime is, the crankier he gets, and the best defense is to grow more unruffled herself. It seems to annoy him, but it also calms his anxiety. 

Jaime's request is to be out among people – “I'm tired of seeing just your faces,” he'd sighed that morning with a dramatic flare that had made Brienne snicker – so she drives them to the shore, because she wants to see the ocean and Jaime doesn't protest. 

It's early summer, but there are still people everywhere on the sand, colorful umbrellas rustling in the wind, the crash of the waves, shrieking children. After so much time in the quiet of Casterly Rock, it's almost overwhelming, but Jaime drinks it in, his face lifted towards the sounds and Brienne feels herself softening towards him further. They get out of the car and Addam's keeping a close eye but he looks more relaxed, too. 

They're all dressed casually in shorts and t-shirts so as not to attract attention, but Brienne quickly realizes that some combination of Jaime's looks and her own are attracting plenty of attention regardless. It comes from all sides: women who are glancing hungrily at Jaime, and Addam, too, and with confusion or derision at her; men who are happy to point and smirk openly as she walks by, who puff up trying to impress Jaime and Addam. 

Brienne tries to shrink herself down, resents briefly the fact she has to keep her head up and around guarding Jaime when all she wants is to stare down at the boardwalk and retreat into herself. They keep walking, a little off from the crowd to avoid accidental connection, Jaime in between her and Addam, but not far enough away to not be able to hear the comments. 

“I thought those were three guys,” someone says. 

“You think she's their token beard?” laughs someone else. In reply, a woman says, “No way. No one would believe it.” 

The comments and stares continue sporadically along those lines, and by the time they've walked twenty minutes out, Jaime is rigid at her side and she can feel Addam's glare slicing through the crowds. Brienne hasn't had a day like this in a long time, and she knows it's the company she's with, how starkly imperfect she looks in comparison to Jaime. Addam's handsome and charming enough to hold his own, but she has only her silence as a shield. 

“Don't listen to them,” Jaime commands sharply, and Brienne sighs. 

“It's nothing I haven't heard before. Words are wind, as my father used to say.” 

“I take it you've never been in a hurricane,” Addam grumbles from Jaime's other side. 

“I grew up in the Stormlands, what do you think?” she snaps back, even though it's not Addam she's angry with. Or Jaime, either, who's as innocent of fault in this as anyone. She's mad at genetics mostly, and fate, and the gods. At herself for letting the days they've spent sequestered at Casterly Rock, where the things she's good at are valued, lower her defenses. 

The trip back to the car and home is quiet and Brienne escapes to her room as quickly as possible when they arrive. 

Addam knocks on her door at dinner time when she doesn't come out. “Brienne?” he calls from the other side. 

“You can go without me, I'm not hungry. I must be a little sick.” 

“Are you sure? I can stay and have Peck bring us some food.” 

“I'm fine,” Brienne says. “I'll get some sleep and feel better in the morning, I'm sure.” 

“All right. I'll bring my phone. Text me if you need anything.” She can hear Addam's disbelief at her lie even through the door, but he leaves and that's what she wanted. 

Ten minutes later, there's another, sharper rap on the door and Jaime says, “Hope you're dressed,” just before he throws it open, stalking inside. 

Brienne leaps to her feet with a shout, hands raised and ready to defend or attack, and Jaime halts a few steps in and glares at her. 

“Come to dinner, Bet,” he says. 

“What the fuck, Jaime?”

“That's what I came to ask you. You're going to let those assholes ruin your whole day?” He grimaces. “They don't know the first thing about you.” 

“They weren't insulting my personality,” she says dryly, her heart rate slowing down again. Addam steps into the room behind Jaime, looking apologetic, and Brienne gives him a faint smile. 

“If they can't appreciate your strength, then their opinion is even more worthless. Right?” Jaime says, looking back at Addam. 

“Absolutely,” Addam agrees with unexpected sincerity. “Please have dinner with us, Brienne. If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it for me. Jaime spent five minutes complaining that you weren't there, and I'd like to enjoy my meal.”

“Was that before or after the five minutes _you_ were complaining?” Jaime says archly, and Addam's cheeks go pink. Brienne bites her lip, ducking her head to hide her smile. “Spare us from each other, Bet.” Jaime's voice is light, but there's a genuine plea there that she finds she's unable to resist. 

“All right,” Brienne says with an exaggerated sigh. “But only to prevent the two of you from murdering each other with your spoons.” 

They light up with matching, boyish grins and she realizes with a startling clench of heat that they're all here in her bedroom together and she nearly chokes on the memory of her dreams of the three of them, the dull ache she ignores so well in daylight suddenly loud and demanding in her body like a chasm falling away under her feet. 

“I'll be right there,” she says, hurrying to her bathroom. Brienne splashes water on her face and glares intently at herself in the mirror. The mere fact of men in her bedroom and she's acting like a sex-crazed teenager. It's absurd, even if it is these two men: one she has admired and liked for years, one she's newly fascinated and tempted by, both of them there to drag her out of self-pity when they could have easily just left her to wallow. 

When she comes out again, she can hear them in the other room, their quiet words and the clank of silverware. They've brought dinner to her and Addam's space, the small table set up with plates already piled high with food. 

“We weren't sure what you'd want, so gave you a little of everything,” Addam explained, giving her a warm smile. 

“We can get you anything else you want,” Jaime adds before he takes a bite of his roast chicken. He grins slyly at her around his mouthful of food. “Especially dessert.” 

Brienne knows her whole face is red but she goes to her chair in silence and sits down. The table is circular, and she likes that they're all sitting next to each other this way. Addam tells Jaime stories about his and Brienne's time in training, talking up her accomplishments in a way that does not help her blush in the slightest. Jaime tells Addam how impressed he'd been by his last fencing match with Brienne, because of how she'd beaten him with a maneuver he'd never seen. 

She knows exactly what they're doing, and why, but she doesn't stop them. She likes it, and she likes them, and they spend a long time lingering over the meal together that night. 

That night she dreams again, the three of them curled in a tangled pile of bodies, and she wakes in the morning soothed instead of unsettled.

* * *

One sweltering day, when the heat feels as palpable against her skin as the memory of their hands, Brienne has the morning watch with Jaime, and they go for a walk before it becomes entirely unbearable outside. Jaime's in a tank top and shorts and it's the most she's seen of his bare skin before, golden and sweaty only a few minutes in. Even the hairs along his legs are golden, though darker, and getting darker still with moisture. Brienne suspects it would be the same for any of the hair on his body – his chest, the line trailing down his stomach, the hair even lower than that. 

Jaime complains the entire time they walk until she snaps, “Couldn't they have modified you to not whine so much?” 

“If I'm such a pain, why do you keep following me around?”

“Because it's my job, unfortunately.” She knows they're both overheated and cranky, but it doesn't make it any easier to put up with him.

“I'm sorry to be such a burden,” he snarls. 

Brienne presses her lips together to keep it from getting worse, and though he does mostly stop complaining, she's glad to be rid of him for awhile after the rest of their walk. By the time they get back it's lunch and she's too hot to eat, too hot to do more than sit in her perfectly temperature-controlled room and dream of the pool. The heat has seeped into her bones and no amount of cold, recirculated air is enough to squeeze it back out again. 

Addam, at least, has prepared a glass of ice-cold water for her, already dripping onto his hand when he hands it over. She must look terrible because he wipes the stray drops across her forehead, and she leans into the moisture gratefully. 

“I feel like I'm going to melt,” she tells him. 

“Let's go swimming,” he says, airy as a boy on summer break. “I can bring my phone in case Jaime needs anything.” 

It sounds like exactly what she needs, so she pulls on her azure blue one piece and then wraps herself in sunscreen and a sheer white cover-up and finds Addam waiting for her in the living room. He's in an outfit that can only generously be referred to as a swimsuit. The waist is low along the top of his hips and the legs end high up on his thighs and she adamantly does not allow herself to stare at the thin strip that covers what's in between. 

It's oppressively hot outside now, thick as a cloying blanket. The pool shimmers like a mirage but she dives in, a clean slice from the edge, and the water pushes the heat away. When Brienne comes back up for air, Addam is watching her with his toes curled over the edge just before he, too, dives in. Not as smoothly, but with an easy strength that's pleasant to watch. He pops up and runs his hands over his head and grins at her and she has the sudden urge to swim into his arms, but she backstrokes away instead. 

Being with Addam after Jaime is like being in the pool after the heat – a balm to settle her after the consuming energy. There is tension between the two extremes, but she's adaptable, and they balance against each other in a way that makes her appreciate both a little more. 

She and Addam swim the length of the pool several times, their bodies moving in time with long strokes. She's faster because of the span of her arms, but he does a good job keeping up. He jokes with her when they take brief breaks in-between crossings, splashing her idly when she teasingly calls his form dog paddling. Brienne glances over at the window for Jaime's wing, and though the curtains are open there's no one there. They decide at the same time to go belly up and just float, and Brienne spreads her arms and legs out like a starfish. Her toes brush Addam's calf. His fingers briefly run over the top of hers. 

There's plenty of room for the two of them, would be enough for three, even, if Jaime were to join them, but they bob quietly next to each other in the middle of the pool. 

“Why didn't you leave?” she asks the sky, relentlessly blue above them. 

“I almost did.” Addam's voice rumbles through the water, so she can feel it in the ripples that lap at her sides. “Then Catelyn said you were coming.” 

Brienne flushes and turns her head a little, feels her hips dip down and re-settles herself in the water. She smoothes her palms over the surface, the tautness of the liquid effortlessly holding her big body. She should say something to Addam's response, but doesn't know how to handle the weight of it without sinking down. 

“Remember that time you broke Robb Stark during a sparring session?” Addam asks her, and she's grateful for the save, his question buoying her up. 

“I didn't break him,” she says on a small laugh. “He was fine.”

“Not until the next day.” 

“Catelyn was just being overprotective because she's his mother.” Brienne flows her arms up above her head and then back to her sides and she glides a little in the water. Addam runs a fingertip over her ankle and Brienne feels goosebumps rise towards the sun. 

“I remember when I accidentally hurt this.” 

“I was fine, too,” she says, though she's not fine in an entirely different way now. His fingers circle her ankle loosely, holding her there but not anything she couldn't easily break. The grip feels familiar, and she's not nervous or bothered by it. 

“I felt terrible,” he says and she wishes she could lift her head to look at him because he sounds like he might still feel terrible today, but she doesn't want to stop floating yet, to stop feeling the wrinkled pads of his fingers on her skin. 

“You never had to,” she reassures him. “It was a fair fight – I stepped wrong and you accidentally fell on my foot. Besides, I beat you the time after that.” 

“You did.” He grunts and lets her go. With his own arm movement, he glides near. “I do miss sparring with you.” 

“We could do it here.” 

“No.” His foot bumps into hers. “I don't want you to get hurt.” 

“I'm just as likely to hurt you,” she says, and her floating arm brushes his. 

“You're too good for that,” he says quietly. 

“Why don't you spar with me now?” 

Addam turns over so he's upright and treading water. “In the pool?”

“Sure. Nobody can get hurt here.” 

“Is it really sparring if we're moving at ten percent speed?” 

Brienne splashes him a little and he grins at her. The water's made his copper hair dark; the droplets captured in his short beard sparkle in the sun. He looks loose and unbothered. She wants to bother him the same way Jaime gets to her. The way Jaime gets to him. She wants to drag him down to the bottom of the pool and steal the air from his lungs with her lips. She kicks out with her leg and he automatically blocks it, but instead of punching back he splashes her in the face. 

“That's cheating,” she splutters, wiping her face just before he wraps around her middle and sends them both down into the water. 

It's not sparring, it's wrestling underwater, though they pause repeatedly to laugh at the absurdity. Their legs slide between each other and at some point she's straddling his thigh, his face is pressed into her chest, and he goes very still when her knee presses high up near his dick. It's not as soft as it should be and Brienne's breath catches in her throat. 

She remembers kissing him. He'd been selected for his first Lead Professional role here with Jaime, and they'd gone out to celebrate it on one of Brienne's days off from protecting Renly. She'd loved Renly even then, for his kindnesses towards her and for the ways he'd needed her, but she'd _liked_ Addam. Addam had been a mentor first, but he'd always treated her as an equal, and that respect had gotten her through many tough days and nights. He was handsome, of course, and charming, and she'd earned his respect and that had been addictive. That night at the bar, they'd started as coworkers and ended as friends, and, buzzed on one too many drinks, Brienne had admitted how lonely she was. Addam had leaned forward, sliding his hand into her hair slowly enough she could have pulled away, and he'd kissed her just as slowly, his lips wet and questioning. Brienne had been so shocked, so overwhelmed by the startling need that simple kiss evoked, that she'd done a poor job of returning it, and Addam had pulled away, stammering an apology. 

They'd never talked about it since. 

In the pool now, he tilts his head up towards her and it would be easy to lean down and try again. She wants to, desperately, and his fingers tighten around her hips when she licks her lips and tastes chlorine. They're breathing hard against each other, their chests colliding. They are partners, and there aren't rules about that but it would complicate everything. 

_This is all so much easier in dreams_ , she thinks, and then pulls away. 

“Sorry,” she says, and Addam swallows and unwinds himself from her, unwraps his hands from her body. As soon as he's gone, she misses the feel of him. 

“I should get back,” he says. 

Addam swims to the edge of the pool and Brienne watches him heave himself out, water falling down his shoulders and back and the small strip of cloth covering his ass. _I should have kissed him_.

“Are you done already?” she asks from the middle of the pool. 

Addam grabs his towel and he's still not looking at her as he rubs it over his arms and torso and ruffles his hair into a messy nest. He turns and starts to say something, but his eyes track to the window behind her and a look she doesn't understand crosses his face. Brienne turns around and sees Jaime at the window, watching them. The tank top he'd been in earlier is gone, and he's all skin and muscles now, leaning casually with one arm against the window, though his face is narrowed and intense. 

Brienne knows the yearning light in his eyes: he's lonely, starving for whatever is happening here in the pool. He must have seen them playing and then twined around each other, observing their laughter and near kiss. Brienne flushes and dips lower in the water. She turns to look for Addam's response, but he's already halfway back to their room. When she looks back to the window, Jaime's gone, too.

She's certain she'll dream of them both tonight. She swims alone the rest of the afternoon and when she finally goes to sleep after a quiet dinner, there they are: bare-chested and rippling with energy that has nowhere to go, until she pulls them into herself.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime decides he wants to go out again, this time downtown to do some shopping. He needs shoes, he says, and he likes to try them on first. Brienne doesn't ask why he doesn't just have someone bring shoes into his house. It's not really about the shoes at all. 

“I can go on my own,” Addam says as they're getting ready, and Brienne glares at him. 

“I can do my job.”

“I know you can. But it's just a shopping trip, limited exposure to crowds, they know we're coming so it will just be us and the salespeople. It doesn't need both of us.” 

Brienne straightens to her full height – she doesn't often relish the fact she towers over everyone she knows, but she does occasionally appreciate the power she can draw from it – and folds her arms across her chest, well aware of the way her biceps are straining against her shirt. Addam seems to be aware of it, too, if the way he's staring at her arms is any indication. He looks turned on and she's unbalanced by how much she wants that to be true. _Focus_.

“When our mod leaves the house, we both go. That's the job, Addam. Don't coddle me.” 

“It's not coddling,” he protests, dragging his eyes to hers. “It's trying to do something nice for a friend.” 

Brienne deflates a little at that, but she shakes her head. “You don't need to. I'll be fine. You said yourself: limited crowd exposure. Unless you don't want me there.” 

“No,” he says quickly. “I like having you around. This has been the best time I've had on this assignment.” 

She bites her lip and flushes a little. Addam's always so quick with his compliments, and Brienne is always so slow to accept them, but there have been too many dreams, and that near-kiss in the pool has lingered since it happened, so all she says is: “Then let's go. I'm sure Jaime will complain about our being late.”

He does, but it's only brief. It's nice out, and they're all happy to escape Casterly Rock together for awhile. Their conversation on the ride is cheerful and easy, bouncing between the three of them with a natural rhythm that has evolved over the weeks. They've discovered they have a surprising amount in common, including a love of sports, of arguing ethical dilemmas, and of watching romantic comedies. That one they'd all sort of dared each other into, none of them wanting to be the first to admit they wanted to do it, until they were in Jaime's private movie theater, an empty seat between each of them, unabashedly enjoying themselves. 

This afternoon is like that one had been, simple and perfect, until, abruptly, it isn't. 

Jaime's tried on a truckload of shoes and is deciding on one last pair when Brienne notices one of the saleswomen nearby staring at him. 

Even in this contained trip, there have been stares, although Brienne has been able to shoulder hers more easily with Addam and Jaime's praise from last time still dug into her heart, stitching any openings together. But there is an uncomfortable intensity to the woman's gaze on Jaime that puts Brienne on edge. Her fingers twitch, but she just keeps an eye out as the woman comes over and kneels down in front of him. 

“You're not the woman that was helping me before,” Jaime notes, his tone very dry and unconcerned. But he glances at Brienne and she catches his eye immediately, nods to let him know she's there. 

“She asked me to help you, she needed to step out. Let's try this one.” The woman gives him a too-bright smile and reaches for his foot. She cradles it in one hand and lifts the shoe with the other, but her grip is awkward and when Brienne looks closer, she sees the glint of a knife in the bright overhead lights. 

Without another thought, Brienne kicks out, connecting with the woman's arm so hard there's a snap and the saleswoman screams. The knife falls to the thinly carpeted floor with a dull thud. 

Brienne grabs Jaime by the collar and hauls him to his feet. Her knuckles brush the back of his neck and they both shudder as their senses merge again. She feels the choking restriction of Jaime's shirt around his neck, the pressure of her fingers wrapped in the fabric. His mind is still unfamiliar, but not brand new, a step closer than it had been before. They stand in that moment for far too long while she opens herself to what he'll give her. 

Addam comes running in from the next row over, trying to gauge the situation. Jaime's staring at Brienne like he's never seen her before. The woman is crying and slumped on the floor, and at the edge of Brienne's vision the original woman has her hands pressed to the side of her head in shock. 

Addam yanks Jaime and Brienne apart, shoves Jaime behind him and Brienne down on the bench and deals with the situation himself. The woman has been incapacitated by Brienne's kick, and the owner of the store comes from the back and they all talk – the attacker has been with them for awhile, she's never seemed the type, she did ask for this shift to work once they found out Jaime was coming. While Addam cleans up and files a report via phone call to MHPF, Jaime sits down near Brienne on the bench, facing the opposite direction. Their shoulders brush, and she can feel his presence reaching out to her through the fabric. 

An hour later, the woman has been sent off to the hospital, and from there she'll go to jail, though Addam says he doesn't expect she'll be there more than a few nights. 

“Blood hunter,” he explains in a sharp, disappointed tone as he directs Jaime and Brienne both back to the car. They keep stealing furtive glances at each other around Addam's body. 

Blood hunters. Brienne shivers. Non-mod humans who try to steal mod blood to inject into themselves. Every MHPF Professional Brienne knows has dealt with at least one in the course of their work. She'd stopped two herself from getting to Renly, because Renly tended to be out in the world more than other mods. She had not been able to stop the third one. 

Public sentiment was often on their side, which was why they rarely suffered punishment unless they actually succeeded. It was frustrating, as a Keeper, because it made hunters bolder, but the ones that succeeded were punished the same as any other murderer, which meant usually the attacks were at least not meant to be fatal. 

The blood hunter is not Brienne's biggest problem now, though. She knows she's in trouble, not because she's done something wrong as a Keeper – protecting her mod is explicitly her job here – but because she froze afterward, because her body keeps leaning towards Jaime's, aching for that connection again. Because every time she feels Addam's heavy stare, he doesn't seem mad, but hurt. The worst part is that he doesn't say anything, because they all already know. 

She's touched Jaime twice, and all she wants is more.

* * *

Brienne wakes the next morning and Addam is fully dressed with a bag packed at his feet. 

She's gotten better at overcoming the adrenaline rush of her dreams – she touches herself when she wakes, imagining it's one or both of the men who hover always near, and she comes fast and hard with so little effort she'd been embarrassed by it the first few times. But Brienne's not embarrassed by much any more, not with the intensity that she swims in every day here. 

She is embarrassed now by the desperate little “No,” that escapes her when she sees Addam like this, his face solemn. 

“I'm going away for my two-day break,” he says, and some of the choking denial eases back, letting her inhale. 

“Why?”

Addam just looks at her and she flushes, can feel it drawing down her body. 

“Why now?” she asks quietly. 

This time, Addam blushes. “A few days ago, I couldn't sleep, so I got up to make myself some tea in the middle of the night. I, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck and shifts on his feet. “You were making noise. I opened your door to check on you and you called his name.” 

Brienne has to give him credit: he doesn't look away from her, though he looks desperately like he wants to. 

“I wasn't trying to pry,” he adds. “I closed the door right after. But...” As though he's reached his limit, Addam stares down at his bag. “Jaime told me about when the two of you touched. That you held on, when-- when no one else has. I see the way you rotate around each other. He never stops talking about you. Then I saw your faces yesterday, the way you both looked. I know you're too good to do this if I'm here, so I'm going to just... not be here.” 

Words pile up in her throat, collide uselessly on her tongue as he bends to pick up his bag. 

“I won't come between the two of you,” he says, with a small, wry smile. “I'll be back tomorrow night, though. I won't report you for anything, but whatever you want to do, Brienne, do it before then.”

And before she can get the words out, to tell him she dreams of him, too, he's gone.

* * *

All day, Brienne considers texting Addam. But where would she even start? _Sorry you misunderstood, but I want to have sex with you both_? It's too much to say out loud; seeing it in text would be unbearable. The last two months she has been touched more than the whole of her life and with every stroke of Addam's hand, with the memory of Jaime's neck pressed against her knuckles, she yearns still for _more_.

She's always been greedy – her Septa reprimanded her constantly for wanting too much, that her excessive height must be to contain her excessive desires – and now the gods were teaching her a lesson by giving her none of it. Being in this house with these two men, seeing their light and unable to feel their heat, feels like punishment. 

At dinner, Addam's empty chair is louder than the sound of their forks clinking against their plates. 

“He's gone all weekend?” Jaime asks for the third time. 

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asks. 

Jaime's eyes are on her and she struggles to keep her fork steady as she spears a vegetable slice. _So we can touch_ is the truth; _so we can have sex_ is the end-goal she wants, but even the idea of being able to feel Jaime while he fills her makes her shiver so hard the tines of her fork scrape across her plate. 

She knows she is making assumptions that have no basis in anything but her own fevered dreams. Dreams are not harbingers of truth, they are the excesses of her lustful thoughts and touching Jaime twice doesn't mean that he wants to be devoured as much as she wants to swallow him up and lick him clean while she feels every stroke of her own tongue.

“Bet?” 

She chokes down a glass of water and shrugs, staring up at the chandelier until her eyes water and her glass is empty. 

“You're acting strangely, even for you,” Jaime grumbles, and they eat the rest of their dinner in silence. 

Jaime doesn't call on her, and she doesn't text Addam, and she falls asleep eagerly, knowing her dream world is waiting.

* * *

Brienne dreams. Jaime's forming words on her skin, dipping his tongue in the wide, sweat-slick valley between her small breasts. Her mouth works, she wants to beg for more, to keep going, but it's full with Addam and she sucks and whines and a man's voice says--

“Brienne.” Her name, hissed near her ear, and she jolts to wakefulness. Her arm shoots out and a gloved hand catches her wrist. She shudders, yanking her arm free with a twist into the grip, her elbow coming around and catching the intruder in the chest. He oofs, a huge exhalation of air, and the sound is familiar. 

“ _Jaime?_ ” she asks, dumbfounded. Her mind is skittering in every direction – she remembers a warm, wet path down the center of her chest, she feels the heat of Jaime's body so near hers he must be lying in her bed. His breath is humid on her cheek. She wonders if she'll feel his lungs if she breathes his air in. Her tongue presses the top of her empty mouth. 

Brienne shoves away from Jaime, rolling out of her bed to stand next to it. He lies there and props his head up on one hand, grinning sharply up at her. 

“There's plenty of room for both of us, Bet.” 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her hands still in fists at her side.

“Waking you up. Though you were making the most _interesting_ noises when I came in. Perhaps I should have let you finish.” 

She remembers – slick bodies, need, two mouths not her own. Brienne is sure she must be glowing in the dark with the force of her blush. “Why are you here?” she asks again. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” He rises languidly from the bed, as though it's not the middle of the night and he hadn't just woken her from an intense sex dream. Brienne tries to corral her thoughts, but focusing on Jaime just gives her dream sharp edges she can't ignore so she rubs her face, hard, until her eyes hurt. 

He's in sweat pants and a t-shirt, though he's got gloves on. Even in the dark, the shadows around the muscles of his arms show the strength of him. 

“What is it, then?” she says once she realizes he's waiting for her to say something. 

“You.” His voice is as shadowed and strong as the tense line of his arms. “Why won't you tell me why Addam left?”

“I did tell you.” 

“You didn't,” he insists. “You avoided telling me anything except how well-cooked the squash was.”

“It was,” she says weakly. 

“Brienne.” He says her name so rarely, it shouldn't sound this familiar in his mouth. 

“Why does it matter why he left?”

“Addam doesn't leave,” Jaime says. “He's the only one who's stayed. Why now?”

“It's my fault.” 

“I assumed. _Why?_ ” In the dark his voice is a physical thing, tugging her near. She holds herself at a distance, but it takes all of her willpower. If he asks anything else of her, she knows she'll give in without a fight. 

She wants him to ask. 

“He needed some distance,” she says, and it's true. 

“From you?”

“From us.” 

Jaime tilts his head to the side. She knows he's examining her even though she can't see more of his eyes than two shadowy pools in the dark. “Us. You mean us together.” 

Brienne nods her head silently. 

“Why don't you pull away when I touch you?” he asks with the exhaustion of a man at the end of a very long journey. 

“Why don't you?” she lobs back, but she sends it gently.

“Because I like how you feel.” He says it like it's obvious, but it shocks her to hear, a miracle pulled from the dark. 

“Because I don't pull away?”

“No.” Jaime comes around the end of the bed until he's much, much nearer and she can breathe in the taste of his heat and sweat. The knowledge she could reach out and draw her thumb across his mouth overwhelms her. “I would want to touch you anyway,” Jaime says. “To feel your strength, and your softness.” He hovers his gloved hand centimeters from her skin, outlines her broad shoulder, down all of her long arm then back across her chest, and he doesn't touch her once, his hand slow and unwavering, confident as a magician. 

Brienne swallows, loud in the night. “Then why don't you?” 

Jaime's close enough now she sees his eyes jerk up to hers, the green of them dark as ancient moss. His mouth parts a little and he licks his lips. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yes,” she whispers. 

He raises his hand between them and with steady, infuriatingly slow movements, he pulls his glove off one finger at a time, repeats the process with the other one, and tosses them to the bed. She and Jaime do not stop looking at each other, even when he brings his palm near her cheek, hovering for a moment while she reads the question in his eyes and nods, once, in answer. 

For a moment Brienne's not even aware that he's touching her, the pressure is so light, and then she feels half of him again, and maybe it's because he's being so tender or maybe because they've done this twice before, but the jolt isn't abrupt, it's a slide of themselves into each other, familiar and welcome. They're both aware and they both want it and when she smiles and his hand tightens against her cheek she feels all of it at once: the pad of his thumb against her jaw, the hard bone of her cheek under his fingers, the callouses of his palm, the cool night air. 

She touches his lips and that's more jarring because now she's feeling the humid heat of his breath and the rough edges of her bitten-off nails. He takes the tip of her finger with his teeth, bites and then licks it, soothing, and she gasps. She can taste herself with his tongue. Jaime sucks her finger into his mouth and Brienne moans, feels the vibration of the sound through his hand pressing firm between her breasts, and his hair is silky sliding between her fingers when she gently curls her other hand against his head, feels the prickle of sweet pain in his scalp when she pulls his head back a little. 

The rest of Brienne's body is clamoring to be touched, too, wants to feel Jaime's hands all over, feel his body; wants to understand what it's like when someone touches the thin skin of his cock and her cunt clenches in anticipation of whatever he'll give her. 

“Jaime,” she breathes, sliding her finger from his mouth, tugging his lip on the way down, leaving a trail of saliva she feels drying cold on his chin. 

He leans up and kisses her and nothing is cold anymore, it's all fire and there's not enough water in the world to quench the thirst that rises inside. His hands are all over her now and she feels the thin cotton of her shirt rip, her back strong and muscled and arching when his other hand slides to wrap fully around her breast. Their mouths are fused and if he wasn't holding her so tightly, if she wasn't wrapped so completely around his body it might be fighting; but she doesn't want to fight, she wants the thrust and slide of his tongue and hers and he gives it to her and she wants more. 

She drags his shirt off, feels the scratch of her nails sharp along his back and he groans into her mouth; she captures her own answering whimper with his lips, and his hands, _gods_ , and hers, there's power under both of their skin in the curve of their fingers over shoulders bunched and ready. Her neck is so long when he strokes down it and she's somehow lived all her life not appreciating how soft her stomach is when his rough knuckles brush tenderly across it, making her tremble. 

It's so close to her dreams except there's emptiness where Addam should be, the soothing and steady foundation that keeps them from toppling over, and it's enough that it startles her eyes open and Jaime pulls a little away. Though their hands are still on each other's bare chests, though she can feel the heaving motion of both of their bodies, he just stares, eyes dark and knowing.

Brienne doesn't think he can read her mind but he says, “You're thinking of him.”

“No,” she says, still panting. Jaime's heart is a pulse against her palm and her palm is a warm pressure on his chest. “And yes.”

“Have you done this with him?”

“No,” she says, flushing. She feels the heat of it inside her body and through the pressure points of Jaime's fingers. “And yes.” He rubs his thigh between hers and Brienne bites her lip to stall a needy whimper. “In dreams,” she says, though it's more a held-back cry. “Both of you, it's always both of you.” 

Jaime rubs his hand over her nipple and she feels the hard pebble of it in his palm. “Do you wish he was here now?”

“No. Yes.” 

“I need a straight answer, Brienne.” He punctuates the demand with a slow roll of his hips and his cock is rigid in his sweatpants and her answering ache is immediate. _Greedy,_ she berates herself. To have all this and still want more. Her septa was right.

“I want you,” she says. She does; Jaime is aggravating and cutting and intense, funny and smart and lonely. But he is not Addam, either, does not have Addam's kindness or patience or drive. She cares for them both, equal weights on either side of the balance. 

“But not on my own.”

“I would,” she says, a promise, because she would shove him down to her bed this instant if she had worked out whatever is lingering with Addam first. 

“But you're not sure if he'll approve,” Jaime sneers and she pushes him back a step, though they keep their hands on each other, both of them loath to completely let go. Even as they talk she still feels him, nudging against her in her head. 

“I wouldn't do this with him, either, not without you.” She feels his shock in her fingers, the way his muscles flex and release, and she can't read minds, but she can read his body clearly. He wants her, and he thinks she wants Addam more; that she would hold the two men equal has never even crossed his mind. Brienne's heart flips over in a slow roll, and she cups his face, his jaw already starting to go rough with late-night stubble, her hands tender and calm. 

Brienne kisses him, sweet and lingering, savors the way her full lips cover his, the way his hands slide down to her hips and rest there, undemanding. Jaime's a whirlwind, but she's roped him in, weighted him down with the reassurance of her touch, and the fire that's always a moment away from consuming him is banked, a coal and not a flame. 

“What do we do, Brienne?” he asks, his breath fanning her eyelashes as she leans down to kiss the side of his neck, her teeth sharp on the tendon there. 

Brienne forces herself to stop tasting him and presses her temple against his. “We stop,” she says. 

Carefully, they both let their hands fall to their sides, though their heads are still pressed together. A single point of contact that Brienne won't release. Not after all this time, all these days and months and years of never having enough of any of this. She won't let it go that easily. Jaime will have to push her away, but he's not moving, either. 

“I don't want to stop,” he admits. When he talks, she feels it in her head. 

“Stay with me tonight,” she begs, a wild cast into the darkness. It's the demand of a voracious woman. “Just to sleep.” 

“I'll touch you,” he says, hoarsely. “If I stay, I won't stop.” 

“I want you to.”

She feels Jaime's nod against her head, feels her own through the damp skin at their temples. With all of Jaime's ability focused on this point, their pulses are merged, as though her heart is pumping blood to him and back again across their connection. 

Brienne splays her hand across Jaime's chest and the sensation dilutes and then resolves there when she pulls her head back. They both need to have some part of themselves in contact at all times. It makes it awkward to climb into bed, but they haven't stopped touching since he took off his gloves and the longer this goes on the less she thinks she can bear being alone again. 

Once they're laid out in bed, both still shirtless, they curl towards each other, and Brienne runs her hand through his hair, closes her eyes at the steady massage of her fingers. Jaime strokes down her side, from armpit to hip and back again. At some point, they sleep, though Brienne isn't sure who falls first. 

That night, she doesn't dream at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Brienne wakes and feels a warm chest pressed to her back, but her back is also cold. It's confusing, made more confusing when she feels breath against her neck and also rebounding into her face. She opens her eyes and sees Jaime's curling golden hair immediately in front of her and the world reorders itself. 

Sometime in the night, Jaime turned over and Brienne wrapped herself around his back, or he pushed back against her, or both, and their arms and legs and bodies are tangled and her sleep-addled brain is struggling to recall whose fingers and bellies and feet are whose. 

“Jaime,” she whispers in his ear. She needs him to wake up – she has to pee, but she's afraid if she breaks the connection abruptly it will hurt one or both of them after having been connected so long. 

Jaime grunts and tugs her arm more tightly around his chest, she feels her own elbow dig into his ribs and she digs in extra until his face pinches and his eyelids flutter open. 

“What are you doing?” he grumbles, his voice deep and scratchy. It vibrates rough over her nipples pressed against his back. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Then get up and leave me be.” 

“Will it... hurt?” she asks, then has to shift a little when Jaime rolls onto his back to look at her. 

He lifts a single eyebrow. “I don't know, Bet, do you have a UTI?”

She grimaces and rolls onto her back, too, but they're still in contact all along their arms, and their bare feet are caressing each other. “I meant will it hurt for us to stop touching? After all this time?”

Jaime stares up at the ceiling and she turns her head. His profile in the sunlight is like the far horizon: the valley of his eyes, the mountain of his nose, the soft hills of his lips. “I don't know,” he tells her. “I've never done this before.”

“I'm afraid.” 

“Take it slowly, then.” When he turns to look at her, she sees the softness in his eyes she'd longed to hear in his words not so long ago. This is a man she has not fully understood: a man unlocked from his lonely cage, peering tentatively into the wide open world. 

Brienne untangles their feet first, then their legs, puts her hand on his chest and uses it to lever herself away from him. She shivers being even half a foot from his warmth, but he's still with her, she's still with him, their point of connection around her hand, then her five fingers when she lifts her palm, four, three, two, one. Her index finger is pressing hard into his sternum and she can feel the slight pain ease as she slowly, cautiously, lifts her finger away. Jaime inhales, his chest rising like he's trying to chase the contact, and when he exhales, the link between them is broken. 

For a moment the world feels ripped away, a sinkhole opening inside of her where Jaime had been, and Brienne almost panics and grabs him again. But she curls against herself, and so does he, both of them tense and tight as they lay near each other without touching. 

“Get up,” he grits out, and she does, stumbling to her feet. 

Her head is swimming, the vertigo of just being herself again. _We went too long_ , she thinks as she kneels and presses her sweaty forehead against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Brienne keeps waiting to feel Jaime's mind against hers, waits and waits and waits for it to soak up all the emptiness it's left behind. She's been stretched out and now she's having to recoil back into herself and it's slow and there's a pocket that wasn't there before, a place carved out for Jaime. 

“Are you okay?” he asks from behind her. 

“No.” 

“I'm sorry. I didn't think it through. I shouldn't have stayed.” 

“I asked you to,” she says into the tile. Her body is burning up. Is this what Jaime feels like all the time? He shuffles closer and she curls into herself. “Don't touch me,” she pleads. 

“I'll go.”

“Don't go either. Just... wait in the other room for me. Please.”

He walks out without saying anything and when Brienne unfolds herself a few minutes later, when the emptiness has been beat back and just the small space remains, she readies herself, gets a new shirt, and steps into the main room expecting to find Jaime gone. 

But he's there, sweatpants and no shirt, making coffee, and it reminds her so much of what she and Addam have built over the last two months that it makes her, absurdly, angry. 

“What are you doing?” she snaps, and she wishes she were touching him again, because she can see the tension straighten the line of his back, but he keeps on with his work. 

“Making coffee. Do you want some or do you prefer to be a grumpy bastard?”

“You're not Addam.” 

“I'm well aware of that. Not ginger enough, to start with.” Jaime pours a mug of coffee and holds it out. “Do you want some or not?”

Brienne takes the mug and she feels a frisson of connection between them but she yanks the mug from his hand, coffee sloshing over the side onto the floor. 

“You should clean that up,” Jaime says drily, pouring himself a cup, too. 

“Does it not bother you?” she asks. 

“The emptiness?” Brienne nods at his questioning look. “I'm used to it, I suppose. This is the most intensely I've ever felt it though.” He rubs his fingers over his chest, the spot she'd last touched him. 

“I miss it,” she admits quietly. “You.” 

“That should pass.” 

“What happens if we do it again? Touch?” The coffee is too hot to drink, but she takes a sip anyway and scalds her tongue. If she kisses Jaime now, he'll feel it.

“Most likely the same that's happened before. We touched a long time, but you seem to be recovered otherwise. Not like Addam.”

“He got some of your blood in him. Or you got some of his sweat in you.” 

Jaime nods a little and Brienne is embarrassingly jealous. 

“What was it like, touching him? How was it different?” she demands. 

“He wasn't as eager as you were to welcome me in. He didn't want to give of himself so freely. You should watch those tendencies, Bet. Someone might take advantage of you,” Jaime says, bitter and sincere all at once. Brienne flushes and sets her coffee down. It's too hot to drink and her stomach is unsettled anyway. 

“Did he feel the same as I do?”

Jaime shoots her an annoyed look over the top of his coffee mug. “No. And neither of you was better or worse. You're different people, it was different.”

“It wasn't bad? It didn't hurt?”

“No. It was intense, as it is with you. But not bad. I just... wanted more than he was willing to give.” 

“Is that why you haven't touched him again?” she asks. She needs to know what's between them, what might happen when Addam returns. What the chances are they might not actually want _her_ at all. Brienne doesn't mind being alone, but she doesn't want to go back to being lonely. 

“I don't touch people who don't want it,” Jaime says, taking another sip of coffee.

“But you want to touch him,” she says. 

“Don't you?” he retorts, and Brienne blushes. Jaime smirks at her, but the mocking edge of it feels mostly directed at himself. “I don't know if he'll ever want to, so I don't think about it.” 

That seems like a lie Jaime has told himself repeatedly, and Brienne leaves it alone. “Maybe Addam was just afraid. He felt so alone here. Maybe he didn't think he could risk it.” 

“But he's not alone now, hm?” Jaime asks, and she knows he's deflecting, but it gets her back up anyway. 

“He needed a friend.” 

“And you've been a very good friend.”

“Fuck off,” she says, pushing off from the counter. 

Jaime grabs her wrist and the empty space expands to envelop him like she's been waiting for his touch. Maybe she has been, if the way she shivers at the feel of him is any indication. 

“You _have_ been a good friend to him,” Jaime says, his fingers circled around her wrist; her wrist feels smaller somehow with his long fingers gripping it. 

“He needed one. I needed one, too.” 

“Brienne.” Jaime's voice is soft, but there's urgency to it she can't ignore, so she pulls her gaze from his hand to his eyes. “We all needed one.” 

With careful movements, Jaime unwraps his fingers one by one from her wrist and she's bereft again, but it's less overwhelming by far this time, the empty hole of a tooth you already knew was missing, but you can't stop poking at. 

“Do you want to touch _me_?” she asks quietly. 

“Every day,” he says. He pulls gently at a lock of her hair and they both tremble. “Every person's touch is different. Not just from whether they want it or not, but because it's shaped by who they are. It's like...drinking different glasses of wine. You are an especially heady vintage.” 

“Stay with me today,” she says, trying not to beg. 

“And do what?”

“Whatever you do alone in your room. I'm sure you can do most of it in here.” Jaime looks meaningfully at her and she feels the slow swirl of desire lick down her spine. “Not that,” she mumbles. 

Jaime grins at her, a devious, diagonal slash across his handsome face. Having him near all day will be a battle, she knows, but she doesn't want him to leave. Addam will be back tonight and whatever she and Jaime are building here will either get knocked down or, if they're lucky, rearranged to include Addam, too. Their foundation won't be as solid as the year Addam and Jaime have spent together, but she needs to try.

“I'll stay,” he says, then brushes his fingers down her arm and she inhales sharply at the quick expansion and contraction inside herself. “But I should put a shirt on. And my gloves.” 

“You don't have to.”

He smiles wryly. “You vastly overestimate my willpower, Bet.” 

Brienne traces the defined curve of his pectoral, down the valley towards his navel and the trail of golden hair disappearing into the low waist of his sweats. He's with her every step, his muscles twitching against her fingertip. She feels the roll of them herself. “I'm overestimating mine, too,” she says. “But I want to be able to touch you. Just for today.” 

“And after today?” he asks in a low, rough voice. 

“I don't know,” she admits. “I wish I did, but we have to talk to Addam.”

“I should leave before he gets back. So he doesn't feel ambushed, or teamed up on.” 

He doesn't mean it that way, but for a fleeting moment Brienne imagines her and Jaime teaming up on Addam in bed, and she yanks her hand back to herself, afraid Jaime really can see her thoughts through her skin. 

“Don't leave,” she pleads softly.

Jaime inhales deep, his whole chest expanding with it. He knows where she intends this to end, and she's grateful that the only thing she sees in response is his own profound interest. 

She thinks about what might happen all day as she rubs her hand over Jaime's shoulder and feels the bump of her own callouses, when she leans in to kiss the hard edge of his jaw and feels her soft lips, when he comes up behind her and lifts up her shirt to press his mouth down her spine and she tastes her own urgency. It is a slow escalation on both of their parts, and she doesn't resist it as they tiptoe closer to the line she's drawn for them. 

Brienne has her hand pressed to the low slope of Jaime's back, is leaning in for more, when the door to their wing opens and Addams halts in the doorway. 

“Addam,” she breathes, and he steps back like she's shoved him. 

“Sorry,” he says, hurriedly. “I didn't--”

“Wait.” Jaime's voice is sharp, but he's not commanding, and Brienne thinks that's why Addam halts. 

“Don't tell me this isn't what it looks like,” Addam snaps and Brienne wonders who he's more jealous of, her or Jaime. 

“It is,” Jaime says with a wry smile. “But it's also not. At least come in and close the door. We should talk.” 

Addam's gaze skates to her, and Brienne nods. She's grateful Jaime is taking over here; what needs to happen next is not something she knows how to navigate. 

Addam takes a few steps into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. The click of it is like a gunshot in the quiet, and Brienne vibrates with what it could mean. 

“Go ahead,” Addam says, still hovering in the foyer. “Talk.” 

“You might feel more comfortable sitting.” 

“I'm fine here.”

Jaime shrugs a little and Brienne feels the pull of his skin against her fingertips, feels her fingers press a little more firmly into his back. “Brienne and I haven't had sex,” he says without preamble. “Though we want to.”

She might laugh, if the air wasn't so thick it's choking her. The idea that he would want to have sex with her would be laughable in any other circumstance, but Jaime is not a man to leave room for doubt. Addam isn't laughing, he looks pained. 

“I know you do. It's not any of my business.” 

“Ah, but it is,” Jaime says, and when he takes a step nearer Addam, Brienne drops her hand to her side and tries not to let the emptiness devour her. “She stopped it from happening.” 

Addam looks Brienne's way, his brows furrowed. “I told her it was fine. It's why I left.” 

“There was a complication. One about six feet tall, with red hair and a truly stunning lack of awareness.” 

Brienne can't look at either of them now, all her heady courage of the night before lost in the darkness. All the things she want seem so much bigger and uglier in the light, just like her. 

“Brienne?” Addam says, his voice a melody of confusion and hope. She hears him take a few steps closer, too, and when she looks up, he's stepped down into the living space, though Jaime is still between them. “What's going on?” 

_I'm greedy, I'm yearning, I want to be loved_.

“I dreamed about you,” she tells him instead, flushing. “Of, of both of you.” The words are so loud though her voice is so soft, and she waits for laughter and disdain, for shame and disbelief. None of that comes, so she chances a glance up from under her eyelashes. There's still a question in the way Addam's holding his body, but also relief, and some of the grasping desire that matches hers. 

“Both of us? At the same time?”

“Yes,” she whispers. 

“So you and Jaime didn't have sex because...” 

“Because of you,” she admits. “Because I want you there, too.” 

“We both do,” Jaime says, and it's a lightning bolt in the room, bright and hot and illuminating. 

“Why?” Addam asks, leaning towards Jaime, drawn as inexorably as Brienne has been. She's known it was always there, but it's different to see him so openly aching. “I pulled away.”

“No,” Jaime says, the single word heavy with everything between them. “You stayed.” 

Addam sets his bag down. “I thought you wanted me gone.”

“And yet here you are.” 

“I'm stubborn, I guess,” Addam says, his light pushing back some of Jaime's shadows. They are balanced, the two of them, but there is a gap in between that neither is able to cross. Without her, they would still be shouting across canyons. She watches Addam rub his hand down his thigh. “I don't know if I can touch you.” 

“She can,” Jaime says, and Brienne remembers she is corporeal and not a ghost haunting these men. 

“She's braver than I am.” 

“She is.”

“She's kinder than you.”

“She is,” Jaime agrees, unoffended. 

“Brienne,” Addam says, and he steps around Jaime, so now it's Jaime-Addam-Brienne in a line, connected though none of them are touching. “You really want this, too?” he asks. “Me?”

“Of course I do,” she says, and it is strange to assuage someone else's fears in this, when the impossibility is her, not him. 

“He wants to kiss you,” Jaime says. “Don't you, Addam?” 

Addam takes her hand in his, and it is so different than touching Jaime. She can't feel Addam except through her own skin, can't feel herself the way he does. But she doesn't need that to see what's in Addam's eyes, to know what his small smile means. To know how her own heart feels. 

“Of course I do,” he agrees, parroting her. 

“I want to see you kiss her,” Jaime says, and she feels the rasp of his voice down her spine. 

Addam tugs, gently, on her hand, a request, and Brienne assents, stepping into him. 

“We tried that once before,” Addam says softly. 

“I should have kissed you back,” she admits, a little sheepish, but Addam's never been one to judge and he's not starting now. He looks relieved, the beginning of happiness, and her heart lifts higher with each beat. 

He skims his hands up Brienne's arms until they're linked behind her neck. “I've never kissed someone taller than me before,” he says and when she hunches down to make herself smaller, his hands slide to her jaw, urging her straight again. “That wasn't a complaint.” 

Addam lifts up and kisses her tentatively, like she might still push him away. It doesn't even cross her mind. Instead she wraps her arms around him and pulls him into her, their mouths opening to each other with the eagerness she'd tried to ignore the first time. It's Jaime who groans in appreciation, and they break apart, turning to look at him. 

“Do more of that,” Jaime says, and the tenting of his sweatpants makes his haughtiness simultaneously more and less effective. 

“What about you?” Addam asks, but he doesn't let go of Brienne. 

“I'm enjoying the show.” 

“You want to kiss her, too,” Addam says, and Brienne feels like she should be annoyed that they keep talking about her like she's not here, but it doesn't feel mean, so she waits to see where this is going. 

“Yes.” Jaime lifts his chin. “I want to kiss _you_ , too.” 

Addam tenses in Brienne's arms. She can't tell if it's because he likes the idea or he's afraid of it. Likely both, given their history. Gently, Addam extricates himself from her, though his hand lingers on her hip, as though he's grounding himself. “What about before?”

“What about it? You weren't ready. You know what to expect now.” 

“I don't,” Addam says, shaking his head. 

Jaime moves closer. “Then let me tell you. We'll touch first, our hands, if that makes it easier, and you'll feel me. Not like you feel Brienne, but through me.” 

“I remember.”

“It will feel like you're losing a part of yourself at first. That frightens most people.” Jaime's eyes flicker over to Brienne and then back. “Don't fight it. I'll take care of you, if you trust me.”

“Is that what you do, when you touch people? Trust them?”

“Sometimes. Some people are easier to trust than others.” Those green eyes are back on her again, and Brienne feels the weight of what they've shared over the last day in a whole new way. It makes sense, now that she's thinking about it, that Jaime's experience would be the same as hers, that he'd have to want to let her in just as much as she did. The realization floods through her like a swift and cleansing wildfire, and in its wake she feels new again, ready to bloom. 

“But you'll trust me?” Addam asks. 

“I have for a year, you fool.” 

Addam snorts, and he looks at Brienne, too. “Why isn't he as charming with me as he is with you?” 

“He calls me 'Bet.' How charming can he be?” 

“I feel like I should be offended,” Jaime says, but she can see him fighting back a smile. “We can start with a touch and then take a break.” 

“All right,” Addam says. He lets go of Brienne and takes a purposeful step towards Jaime. “One touch only, to start with.” 

“I promise.” 

“Does it matter where?” 

Jaime shrugs. “Wherever you feel most comfortable. Handshake, arm, cock.” 

Brienne flushes and Addam snickers, and Jaime looks equally delighted by their responses. “I don't know why I put up with you sometimes,” Addam says, but the look on his face says exactly why. “Just stand there, I'll touch your arm.” 

Miraculously, Jaime does as he's told, and Brienne watches curiously as Addam's fingers hover near Jaime's forearm, as he takes a big breath and then presses his fingertips to Jaime's wrist. Brienne imagines she can feel the pressure, light at first when both men gasp, and then pushing a little deeper, but she looks down and sees she's touching herself, mimicking what's happening between Addam and Jaime. 

Addam looks like he's barely holding on until Jaime whispers something that Brienne can't hear, causing Addam to nod and exhale, staccato and loud. 

“Good,” Jaime murmurs, curling his hand up to press his fingers to Addam's wrist, and instead of just fingertips they're suddenly gripping each other's arms, firm, neither looking like he wants to let go. Brienne knows exactly how it feels. 

It's Addam who breaks first, peeling his hand away, not with the same reluctance Brienne had felt, but not as though he's been burned either. It's progress, and Brienne smiles a little at the dazed look on his face. 

“All right?” Jaime asks, his voice a low hum in the quiet. 

“Yeah. I'm all right,” Addam says, soft and sincere. 

Jaime inclines his head, and then he looks at Brienne, pulling her back into their sphere. “More?” he asks both of them. 

Addam looks a little off-balance, and Brienne doesn't want to rush him into this so she says, “Let's take a break. Dinner, maybe?”

“I _am_ hungry,” Jaime says with a sly grin that stirs Brienne's own hunger. He calls for Peck to bring dinner to the room, and Addam excuses himself to put his things away, leaving Jaime and Brienne alone. 

“Are _you_ all right?” she asks him as soon as Addam's door is closed. 

Jaime looks astonished, like she's thrown him a step off-beat. She brushes her fingers gently through his hair and he leans into her touch until she pulls away, the quick connection and release like a pulse. “Only you would ask that,” he says. 

“That's not an answer,” she replies, embarrassed. 

“I'm fine. I wonder about him, though.” 

“He's fine, too,” Brienne assures him. “He's wanted this as long as you have.” 

“Wanted it or feared it?”

“Maybe both,” Brienne says on a shrug. “But he didn't look afraid.” 

Addam comes back out and they turn to him; the air crackles with anticipation when he looks between them with the same heat in his eyes. If Jaime is surprised by her asking after him, she's equally as surprised that either of them still look at her with such wanting when the other man is there for the taking. 

“Well?” Jaime says, one golden eyebrow lifting. “What are you thinking about?”

“I'm thinking about you two kissing,” Addam says. “About you touching each other.” 

“You're ok with it?” Jaime asks. 

“Yes,” Addam says hoarsely, and she knows how that feels, too, the idea of the two of them naked and devouring each other under her eager stare. 

Brienne's throat is dry, but very little keeps Jaime from talking. 

“Good,” he says. “Because I intend to do a lot of it.” 

There's a knock at the door and Brienne is both annoyed and relieved at the interruption. Jaime, it seems, is only annoyed, because he snaps, “What is it?”

Peck's response comes back, unperturbed: “Dinner, Mr. Lannister.” 

Jaime hurries over to unlock the door and Peck wheels in a tray loaded with serving dishes. “When will you call me Jaime, Peck?”

“Probably never, Mr. Lannister.” 

“I've told you it's fine.”

“I know, sir, but it feels wrong.” 

“It's worse that you call me Mr. Lannister,” Jaime grumbles, and Peck just shrugs and sets the serving dishes all along the countertop. 

“Do you want me to serve you?” Peck asks politely. 

“No, Peck, we can serve ourselves. Go frolic or something. You're far too serious.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peck says. When Brienne looks at him, the younger man is smiling a little. There aren't many other long-term inhabitants of Casterly Rock – Bronn the groundskeeper, Pia the chef, and Peck, who seems to be single-handedly running everything else. They're nice enough – although Bronn is coarse and snarky in a much more pointed way – but they tend to keep to themselves and Brienne has never been good at reaching out first. 

“Peck,” Jaime says just as the younger man nears the door. “I won't need anything else from you tonight. Why don't you take Pia out somewhere for the evening?” 

“Yes, sir,” Peck says, and his smile is wide and grateful this time. “Same place as last time?”

Jaime nods. “In fact, spend a couple of nights, on me as usual. We've got it covered here.” 

Brienne and Addam exchange curious looks, and after Peck nearly skips away, Jaime meets their silent questions with a shrug. “He works hard, he's earned a few days away from me. Besides, I expect we'll be fully occupied.” 

It's good, Brienne thinks, that Jaime is so confident and straightforward with this. If it were between her and Addam, they might never be moved to action. She's been dreaming about it from the start, but now that she's here, she feels all awkward angles and hyper-aware of every move of her too-long limbs. Even now it feels unbelievable that this will become something more. 

All three of them mostly pick at their food, though their conversation is animated. Jaime asks Addam about his trip, and rubs his foot against Brienne's calf under the table. Addam asks Jaime about his day and runs his fingers over Brienne's thigh. She stares down at her fish – cooked to perfection as usual – and eats almost nothing. 

Finally, Jaime wipes his mouth and sets his napkin down. “Is that a long enough break?” His voice is rich and dark. “Do you need to sleep first?”

“Where will you sleep, if I do?” Addam asks.

“Brienne's bed is comfortable,” Jaime says with a knowing smile. “And big enough for all three of us.” 

“I'm not tired,” Addam says. “What about you, Brienne?”

There's little inside of her besides the drumming of her heart, the fluttering need. Sleep is impossible. “No,” she says. “I don't want to sleep.” 

Addam pushes back from the table, standing slowly. “Come here,” he says to her, and she follows his lead. Jaime tilts his head and considers them from his seat. Even though he has the commanding elegance of a lordling, the desire on his face, the hooded depths of his eyes, are sincere. It's one of the things she likes most about Jaime, that he started with a genetic leap, but he fights to be his own man as much as any of them. His heart is what drives him, his need to be wanted is as deep as her own. His imperfect humanity is the biggest and best part of him. It makes her believe hers might be, too. 

Brienne steps into Addam's space while Jaime watches, and Addam pulls her hands to his hips. They're more slender than Jaime's, and she curls her fingers easily around them. “You can still say no,” he tells her. 

“I won't,” she promises. 

Addam searches her eyes and moves one of her hands lower, slowly. When she doesn't resist, can't imagine resisting, he brushes her hand across his cock, hard in his jeans. They both gasp when she first touches him. “That last time we sparred,” he says, his breathing already sped up, “I masturbated every night the week after, thinking about it. About you.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” she asks. 

“I was supposed to be your mentor. It would've been wrong.” 

“We're partners now,” she says, and he nods a little. 

“I've had that thought more than once since you arrived.” 

Brienne grips him more fully through the denim and his eyes darken. She strokes her palm down the outline of his hard cock, his breath stuttering out of him. 

“I thought this was going to be the three of us,” Jaime says, and he sounds petulant and sarcastic and nervous. It's the last that soothes Brienne's jangling nerves. If he's worried, too, then they're all truly on equal footing. 

“Come here then,” Addam says without looking at him. “You have as much experience with this as any of us, I assume.” Brienne hears the scrape of Jaime's chair. 

“None?” Jaime says from nearer than he was. 

“Exactly.” Addam smiles at Brienne. He looks so much freer, she has to smile back. It's easy enough to lean forward and kiss Addam again, until Jaime places one hand at the back of her neck and for a fierce, shooting moment she's a conduit, electricity sparking from Jaime through her to Addam and back again, and her hand tightens so hard around Addam's cock he jerks out of her grip and lets her go. 

“I'm sorry,” she pants. She shudders from one last echo of energy. Jaime's light touch settles her like she's a skittish horse. “I didn't-- I wasn't prepared for that.” 

Addam doesn't look like he was either. When she looks over her shoulder at Jaime, his eyes are wildfire flaring to a conflagration. 

“Did it hurt you?” Addam asks her. 

“No. No, I'm fine. It was just intense.” Brienne presses her fist to her heart. “My dreams never covered this part,” she adds on a self-conscious laugh. 

Jaime moves closer, his whole body hovering an inch from hers, his mouth at her ear. “What _did_ your dreams cover?” he asks her, husky and interested. She shivers a little, remembering hands and tongues and her wrists above her head. There's no way she can put any of that into words yet. They haven't even seen each other naked, she can't bare all of her fantasies so soon.

Addam saves her from having to, stepping back within her reach, though she keeps her hand at her side just in case. He lifts the bottom of her shirt enough to press his fingertips to her stomach. Jaime hasn't let her go and the same connecting arc runs through her, but she's ready this time, and so are they, and it freezes them for only a moment. Brienne arches with it, and Addam flattens his hand against her belly. It's not that she can feel him the same way she feels Jaime, but that all the energy surges towards where he's touching her, a line from Jaime's hand to his that sets her alight. It reminds her of the static toys she played with when she was younger, the way the energy would spread out across the surface of the plastic ball, how it would gravitate in eager bolts to wherever it was touched. When Addam slides his fingers further up towards her breasts, the sizzling energy follows. 

Jaime groans in her ear and presses flush against her and she worries for half a second what this will be like when they're naked, if her mind will be able to withstand the feel of his knees and his thighs and his chest against her skin, but Addam's touch is still drawing her on. He cups his hand around one breast, rubs his thumb over her nipple and she whimpers a little before clamping her lips together. 

“Do that again,” Jaime says, and she's not sure if he's talking to her or to Addam, but they both obey him anyway. First Addam's thumb, then her escaped whine in response.

Jaime reaches past her to Addam and says, “Give me your other hand.” Addam looks down at Jaime's open palm like it's a trap and Brienne knows it is, but it's one they both will walk willingly into. “Trust me,” Jaime pleads softly, and Addam looks to Brienne, not for approval, but for reassurance, which she gives him. 

None of them know what's going to happen when Addam and Jaime touch while they're also touching her, but if they're going to do this, they have to find out. Addam's still got one hand at her breast, covering it completely, and Jaime wraps his other arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him. His cock is hard against her ass; she pushes back against it without thinking, drawing a hiss and a slight squeeze of his muscular forearm against her stomach. 

“Hold still,” he murmurs. 

Addam takes Jaime's hand before Brienne can say or do anything else, palm sliding over eager palm. Her world expands again, and she feels Addam through Jaime's touch – fingers and callouses and pulse – and she tastes the sweat on her neck when Jaime mouths her there, and Addam's thigh is like steel between her own. Brienne is flooded with liquid heat and the emptiness in her is expectant now as Jaime rolls his hips and Addam plucks her nipple between his rough fingertips. The two men shift their grip to each other's forearms, and her lips find Addam's and it's hard to focus anywhere when all of her is sensation. 

Jaime stops devouring her neck for a moment to say, “Clothes.” 

“Yes,” Addam breathes into her mouth. Brienne grabs at Addam's shirt first, because he's right in front of her and Jaime's already topless behind her, but Jaime's tugging her shirt at the same time and the three of them get tangled together. 

Addam laughs a little and grabs Brienne and Jaime's hands to still them both. There's a tremor in Addam's fingers that Brienne feels through Jaime's wrist, but he doesn't let go. “Hold on, there's too many limbs here, we need to take turns,” he says on a shameless grin. Brienne is still undone by how both he and Jaime are so quick to accept this, to embrace it – and her – so readily, but she's not going to question them. 

“Who goes first?” she asks. 

Jaime responds, his lips back at her ear: “You.” He rucks up her shirt again and this time it's off so fast it gets stuck on one hand. She expects him to rip it off, but instead he twists the fabric and uses the shirt to tug her hand backwards behind her. It's not painful, and she's only loosely trapped, and it puts Jaime's cock within reach so she allows it, trailing her fingertips against his sweatpants. He nips at the tensed line of her shoulder and she feels his teeth and her muscle between them, so thick her own jaw clenches. Brienne reaches back with her other hand over her shoulder and grabs Jaime's hair, her fingernails scratching his scalp as she holds on. His chest is so hot against her shoulder-blades she wonders if she'll burn. 

“Addam,” Jaime says desperately against the heartbeat running wildly in her neck. “Help her with her pants.” 

Jaime isn't holding her so much as presenting her to Addam, who says, “I would love to” enthusiastically as he sinks to his knees. Addam doesn't play the same games Jaime does, he's gentle as he confidently divests her of pants and underwear. Brienne is the only one completely naked now. She might be nervous any other time, but she's got Jaime's erect cock in her hand and Addam's fingers are on the inside of her thighs, nudging them wider. There's no space for nerves when everything she wants is so close. 

Addam looks up at her, his eyebrows raised in question, giving her a chance to say no. All three of them will stop the second any of them says a word, but Jaime doesn't invite that declination the same way Addam does. 

She doesn't need it though; she's not going to stop. 

Addam kisses the trimmed hairs at the apex of her legs; she tilts in pursuit of his mouth but his hands hold her firmly in place. Brienne's still got both her hands on Jaime and she doesn't want to untwist them, but Addam doesn't seem to mind as he nuzzles between her thighs. The electricity is a precise buzz down the center of her body, swirling around his soft and exploring tongue. Jaime gasps at the same moment she does, feeling all of it, too – Addam rubbing his bearded chin against her, Addam separating the lips of her vulva with care, sucking her clit, digging his elbows into her thighs to hold her open and slide one lean finger to where she's already leaking. Brienne's making tiny little noises in her throat and Jaime's other hand comes up to her chin to tilt her head and swallow them on their shared tongues. 

Brienne's life has been a desert, dry and aching for more. Jaime's touch is a storm, Addam's kindness the sun. She flowers between the two of them now, wild and overrun until she's shaking and only standing because Jaime and Addam won't let her fall. 

“My turn,” Jaime says, and Brienne thinks he means his turn to get undressed; she hopes he means his turn for their attention. Her mind provides a flurry of increasingly wanton images of how she'd like to see him between them. Jaime unwinds her arm and her shirt falls to the ground; the two of them circle their wrists at the slight, pleasant ache that remains. But even as Addam stands, Jaime nudges Brienne to sit on the couch and then follows her down, not letting their connection break for an instant. 

She doesn't need the connection to know what he's planning when he kneels for her, using his shoulders to keep her open, scraping his teeth where her thighs are red from Addam's beard, using his finger to-- _oh gods_ there's the length of it inside her and her own soft walls clutching him deeper is a sensation entirely foreign but so good it makes her even wetter on his skin. Addam's behind the couch, stroking his hands over her neck and shoulders, running them down her chest and then he bends over and takes her nipple in his mouth and this time while Jaime fucks her with one finger, then two, she clings to Addam's broad shoulders and the electricity is everywhere Addam's lips go. She feels how tight she is, how demanding for more, feels Jaime answer with three fingers and the relentless movement of his tongue lapping her up and her cry is loud enough for all three of them as she falls apart between their mouths. 

“Fuck,” Jaime groans into wet cunt. “That was-- fuck.” He must have felt it, too, she realizes and Addam's nodding at her shoulder. She wonders how much Addam's affected, now that he's not touching Jaime directly anymore. When Jaime's tongue darts out to lick Brienne clean, they all shiver. 

Jaime and Addam don't take turns getting undressed. They are clothed and then they're naked and Jaime pulls Brienne to stand, kissing her until their lungs are bursting while Addam shoves the coffee table out of the way. Of course Addam is the planner, making sure they've got space, coming around behind her again to grab her hips, to kiss the line of her shoulders, and her pleased cry is lost on Jaime's tongue. 

Brienne puts her hand on Jaime's chest, the pressure and weight of it heavy as she separates them with an almost unwilling shove. She cannot be between the two men the whole time, that's not what this is about. She moves behind Jaime, trailing her hand along his ribs, keeping her eyes on Addam. His face is flushed, his shoulders sprinkled with freckles; not as many as hers, but enough she sees the appeal, the way they move and bounce as his muscles bunch, the sudden urge she has to explore each one. 

It takes all of Brienne's willpower to stop touching Jaime and set the two of them apart, to stare only at the red and gold of their heads and not intervene. Brienne wonders if she looked the same as Addam does now when faced with Jaime tall and flushed and powerful before him. 

“You can kiss me,” Addam assures Jaime, because Jaime is perfect but he's still human, still as trapped by the warring desires and fears of his own heart as she and Addam are. Brienne knows what it's like to live knowing no one wants your touch, understands how fantastical it seems that someone might. She has her own voice clamoring that she is too much and not enough even now. If Jaime or Addam had pulled away from her before, she would already be gone. 

But they are both braver than they give themselves credit for because Jaime reaches out, fingertips and then hand over Addam's heart, and from here Brienne sees how tightly Addam holds himself in place, when he puts his hand over Jaime's, when he grips the back of Jaime's neck and pulls him in for a fierce, hungry kiss. 

Whatever has been between them in the past year, it has been waiting for this to ignite, and Brienne can feel the waves of gratitude and craving like the wash of heat from a bonfire, nearly too much to be near. They are beautiful together, and she wraps her arms around herself and tries not to think of how different it must look when it is her instead, how they do not need her now that they have crossed this last bridge. 

Jaime and Addam finally break apart and press their foreheads together. 

“This isn't quite right,” Jaime breathes, and Addam nods. 

“I was hoping you'd feel that, too.” 

Brienne frowns, confused. 

“How is she so much smarter than us?” 

Addam laughs a little. “I don't know, but thank the gods she is.” 

They look at her, not like she's interfering, but like they're waiting. Expectant. Hopeful. 

“Come here, Bet,” Jaime says and joy breaks open her heart, a warm sea buoying her up as they gather her near in their arms again, not because they need her there, but because they want her to be. 

It is a rush of bodies and limbs after that, of wide, wet mouths on each other's skin and fingers tugging and grasping at hair for purchase in the onslaught as they each try to fully taste every inch of the other two. Brienne learns what the inside of her own mouth feels like against Jaime's tongue, the thick weight of Addam's fingers wrapped up by Jaime's lips. The longer she touches Jaime, the more parts of his body feel like her own, so when Addam grips Jaime's cock she gasps even before Jaime does at how demanding Addam's hand is, the way he's pulling the tender skin with ferocious need. 

“Slower,” Brienne begs, and Jaime looks at her with a sharp, hungering stare and nods. 

“What she said.” 

Addam slows his movements, turning languid and almost teasing and Brienne arches her hips forward like he's pulling her. 

“Can you feel this?” Addam breathes into her ear and she nods against Jaime's shoulder. “So can I,” he groans. 

Jaime slides his fingers back into her cunt and they all cry out. She's full with Jaime's fingers and dripping from the head of his cock and someone is kissing Addam. Brienne only discovers it's her when Jaime bends to run his tongue across and around her breast. 

“Please,” someone says, and “yes” someone else answers and another begs, “don't let go.” Then Jaime is sitting on the couch, legs spread wide and Brienne's still holding onto his hands as she straddles his lap, facing outward. Addam stands between Jaime's feet, his mouth slack, chest heaving. Brienne meets Addam's intense stare as she slowly sinks down onto Jaime's cock, feeling his blunt thickness and her own unbearable heat welcoming him in at the same time while Addam's hips jut in tiny waves towards them. Jaime is shuddering before she even has his cock all the way inside, and she knows he's feeling the dual sensation, too. They adjust and find a rhythm and angle so perfect they're both crying out in wonder in seconds; there's pressure building at the base of Jaime's spine and spiraling from the peak of her well-used clit, too soon but unstoppable. Addam watches her and Jaime with an open lust as they fuck each other into senselessness. Brienne frees her hands to grip Addam's ass and tug him closer so she can take him in her mouth, and Jaime groans in appreciation. The electricity is on her tongue as she sucks the salt and musk tip of Addam's cock, kisses his shaft, rolls her hips against Jaime and feels his relentless thrust.

There is no slowness now, little time for the novel enjoyment of what it feels like to drive into the slick folds of her own cunt, the slip and movement of skin, the clenching strength. _I didn't know_ , she thinks. _I didn't know I could feel this way._ Her own body is a revelation. Next time she wants to learn more.

This time, Addam's swelling in her mouth and he grips her head to pull her away, warning “I'm close,” in a voice so hoarse and strangled she isn't sure how he's even speaking. Brienne only holds him more tightly, swirls her tongue around him and sucks deeply and when Addam comes with moaning, rigid tension, all steel and urgency under her hands and liquid in her mouth, Jaime shouts and jerks inside of her and she feels his orgasm layered on top of hers, not at all like her own but ferocious and pulsing and wonderful, a staccato counterpoint to the swelling waves rolling out from her cunt. 

Jaime slumps back against the couch and she collapses with him and their sweat-soaked skin melds together. Addam leans forward and wipes his thumb over her lip, cleaning her up, before falling down onto the chair next to them, panting and staring up at the ceiling like the world is new and a little too bright and so much bigger than they ever knew. That's how Brienne feels, at least. She might be projecting.

“What the fuck,” Addam says with a hushed reverence that suggests she's not. 

Brienne starts to move but Jaime's arms go vise-tight, holding her in place. His cock is slipping out of her but she still feels him at ankle and thigh and chest, feels the essential _him-ness_ embracing hers, and some part of her hopes he never lets go. 

“I'm too heavy,” she says anyway, because it's polite. 

“You can feel that you're not,” Jaime mumbles, and he's right, her ass is sitting in the cradle of his hips, heavy but not crushing the muscles there. He is strong enough for her, and maybe Addam, too, the image of which intrigues her. There is so much to explore from here, but she's exhausted. 

Brienne puts her hand on the couch near Addam and he stretches for it, their fingers touching for a span of seconds, the jolt lighter now, but still there, that awareness of all three of their separately beating hearts coming together. 

“I hope that was better than your dreams,” Jaime says, his arrogance restored, and Brienne laughs in joyful surprise, because there are dreams and then there are _dreams_ , and this was far beyond either. 

“It was,” she assures him.

“I haven't had sex since I got my powers,” he admits into the space between her shoulder-blades, and Brienne does shift off of his lap, then, so she can curl against his side and meet his eyes. Jaime looks more nervous and unguarded than she thought possible of him. 

“Was it all right for you?” she asks.

His mouth twitches into a small grin. “Isn't that what I should be asking you? I didn't take you for someone who needs ego-stroking, Bet. Him, yes.”

“Hey,” Addam says without real rancor. He's flopped back in the chair again, legs stretched out, hands clasped over his rising and falling stomach. Brienne realizes he's fuzzier than Jaime is, and the hair around his cock is still red, but darker than on his head. He catches her roving gaze and lifts one eyebrow. “You've gotta stop looking at me like that, Brienne. I'm not a superhuman like some people; I need time to recover.” 

Brienne blushes red at Addam's teasing tone while Jaime says conversationally, “I don't actually know what my recovery time is. We should perform a study, for science.” 

“We'll have plenty of time for that,” Brienne says, and then bites her lip, wishes she could similarly bite back the words. There's an assumption there she's not sure she should make. They're Jaime's protectors, for one thing, and the rules are explicit about contact with mods – Catelyn will not approve, if they decide to come forward. And for another, Brienne is old enough to know that one incredible sexual experience isn't the commitment she wishes it was, no matter how much she likes just _being_ with them. 

“We will,” Addam says firmly, and Jaime nuzzles into her neck, nodding. 

They sit quietly for a few minutes, relaxing into the silence and each other, and Brienne keeps an eye out on Addam, still separate, but he seems all right with it. 

“I'll be right back,” Jaime says abruptly, though he extricates himself from Brienne at a slow pace, breaking their connection with a tenderness that helps ease back the emptiness that lingers. He goes into her room, to pee probably, maybe to finally grab his shirt. Perhaps simply to give her and Addam a chance to talk. 

“Not what I expected to happen when I left the two of you alone,” Addam says, taking the opportunity Jaime's given them. 

“You seem fine with it.”

“I am.” He looks at her, watchful. “Are you sure you are?”

“Yes,” she says quickly. 

“It's not the same when I touch you, as it is when he does.” 

“It's not for you, either, when I touch you. Do you care?”

“No,” he says softly, and then he shifts over to the couch, in the space Jaime left. Addam rubs his hand over her shoulder, down her arm, and interlocks their fingers. It isn't at all like touching Jaime, but she likes it just as much, can see Addam does, too, by the light in his eyes. 

“I want what you do as much as I want what he does,” she tells him and he nods. “Did you really think about me, back at headquarters?”

“All the time,” Addam says, chuckling. “It was embarrassing.” 

“I never knew. You were so nice to everyone.” 

“Not like I was with you. You were just never around the others much, you didn't see.” He exhales slowly. “Catelyn's going to kill us.” 

“It's possible.”

“Will you quit, if it comes to that?”

Brienne's mouth works wordlessly for a moment, struggling to answer. The MHPF has been her guiding principle for years; she joined to help people who needed it. They're a small force, elite and well-trained for a situation so far outside normal it's impossible to prepare for it completely. This situation, for instance, isn't covered in the books. Jaime still needs protection, and she'd rather it be someone who cares for him than some random keeper he'll just run off. 

“No,” she says. 

Addam shakes his head. “You're a much better person than I am.” 

In reality, she's just more used to being alone, and she's not quite sure yet she trusts the two of them won't tire of having her there. But Addam's staring at her with an admiration just this side of awe, and Jaime's coming out of the bedroom now, still naked, his gaze sweeping over them together on the couch with hunger and his own want, and she thinks perhaps there's room for trust here in the space that has always been empty before. That their interlocking hearts might be stronger supported on all sides. 

She and Addam are still holding hands, and Jaime comes and offers his to them both, palms up, an invitation and a question and a promise that they can be more, together. Addam takes one, and then they're both just waiting for her, here in reality and not just in her unfulfilling dreams. 

Brienne squeezes Addam's hand. She takes Jaime's. She rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments - especially those of you trying a J/A/B fic for the first time! 😊 Thank you again to Cerulean_Phoenix7 for such a fun prompt to play with!


End file.
